


Ashes, Roses, Secrets

by KnightOfBurgers



Series: The Epic of Us [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crime, Drama, Emotions, F/M, Grimdark, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Mortal AU, Romance, Secrets, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Subversion of expectations at every forking step
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25439731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfBurgers/pseuds/KnightOfBurgers
Summary: A nerd at the end of her rope, a bastard coping in the worst way he knows, a psychopath haunted by his ex-girlfriend, an actress who can't drop the act, and a spy who wakes up every morning with fresh wounds.Not a lot in common? Well, destiny likes mashups.After all, life is fixing what fate screwed up.
Series: The Epic of Us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898059
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Gray I

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>   
> 
> 
> **for Reva**
> 
> Unlike many other long fanfics dealing with crime/politics analogies, this story requires little world building. So don't be put off if you see too many terms in the first few chapters: I'll only last two chapters before you get immersed.  
>  **My stories are heavily formatted and have work skins to enhance your reading experience so please do not download _ARS_ or turn the work skin off.**
> 
> **Note 1** : I'll put some info about a character or event or organisation in the ANs at the chapter's end in bold sometimes. They'll be a helpful guide to what main things were explained in that chapter so you can refer to them without having to read through the whole chapter.
> 
>  **Note 2** : Sometimes the dreams will be in italics and sometimes not. If it is in italics, it shows that the character is aware that it is a dream.
> 
>  **Note 3** : You'll notice I haven't mentioned the the city where the story is taking place. I haven't mentioned a name as it could be seen as implying that the civic authorities and law enforcement officers in that location are weak and corrupt. If you want a location, and can't imagine your own city as one, think Gotham.

* * *

The low, orange-red sun through the windows was dancing on her mother's face. Annabeth knew that not all of the warm hue was external. The angry red that was Athena's cheeks' color even without the sun clearly indicated that she was about to kill Annabeth. She still had to play the part of a regular teenager, though, and so she marched into danger by shrugging casually, "It's really not that big a deal, mom. If you consider all the factors, it's almost as if the universe wanted to screw with the result, each reason was so independent and rare!"

Athena, as expected, wasn't so casual: Her voice was a few notes above normal, and her eyes hadn't yet stopped spewing fire at Annabeth. "I don't care for your sentient universe or any other New Age crap you use, Annabeth! Stop making excuses!"

 _Should I make dinner instead, then?_ She thought, and tried to subtly squeeze her stomach to stop it from irritating her. _So hungry..._

Her mother continued speaking. "You're just blaming your unacceptable performance on other things! You're just making excuses!"

"Well, duh!" she said, to procure time to structure her response _and_ include more Regular Teenager Behavior into her demeanor, "I'm validating my test score; I'm giving you reasons for my performance. My _excuses_ aren't necessarily false and made up—you simply _treat_ them so. And so I _am_ excusing myself. Gee, mom, I'd always thought you were at least non-stupid."

At that, Athena's falsely calm face morphed into an interesting hybrid of a pufferfish, a tomato and Maleficent. After that phase, her eyes narrowed to partial lunar eclipses and her teeth ground so hard into each other, Annabeth feared they would disappear into their respective gums. But her voice hadn't changed even a little. "You've got a lot of cheek for the failure of our family, Annabeth—" and after a Dramatic Pause™—"Alpha-grounded, two weeks. Starting now!"

_And we're back to the same old shit._

That always had been the easiest way to get her ears out of the misery of Athena's screeches ( _This time it lasted less than five minutes! Yay me!_ ): Hurt her pride or insult her intelligence, and you get out of her prefabricated lecture that always ended on or near the topic of Annabeth being a lackwit, and her utter uselessness in Athena's life and hence (by Athena's logic) in the universe.

 _That part is complete nonsense,_ Annabeth thought, _She's supposed to be a logician! How stupid are her clients and employers if this kind of crap is the basis of her job?!_

Still, the walk of pseudoshame was so routine that she didn't even sigh as she hung her head as if guilty and hurt and went to her room upstairs. She'd thought that at least this time her mother would change the intensity—for the first time the crime was the worst possible in Athena's catalog, getting a zero on a test—but even now it was neither upgraded (to possibly alpha-prime-grounding) nor downgraded to beta-grounding.

Nightfall absolutely agreed with her opinion of Athena's intelligence.

The impulsive part of her was to get in Athena's face and snap at her, "You do realise I can escape to dad's and never return, right? That I can leave you to rot childless forever?"

But no. Both her parents—and especially Athena—must think that their deluxe, most-hurting punishment or shaming truly hurt her. That they could _easily_ break her 'teen spirit'. That they could still control her. And that she wouldn't risk angering them for fear of having to live without them for the rest of her life.

In truth she resembled further any rebellious, hardened teen than the meek, lost girl her parents thought her to be. Annabeth tried her best to include some elements of teenage into the image to show some signs of growing up. So far, hiding her nature was quite easy, because Athena was too blind to see a failure in her parenting and Frederick was too figuratively far from her to care to probe for the truth. _A_ _nd thus both of them suck equally badly at knowing me._

So she went to her room, locked the door and climbed into bed. She tossed and turned in bed, destroying the perfection of the sheets, packed up her belongings—leaving several objects scattered and cluttered on the floor and table, then switched off the lights and climbed out the window. She jumped down to outside the fence in an alleyway, leaving behind a room perfectly resembling that of a depressed teen making an escape after a fitful sleep. Or at least the room her mother would expect such a teenager to make. Annabeth wasn't quite sure how the guys did it these days... but luckily, her mother didn't, too.

Usually she would have waited for a few days of punishment before staging her play, but presently she was in a hurry. If Regular Parent X's grounding rules were detention, Athena's rules were solitary confinement at the worst prison. And Jason was about to teach her how to handle guns and knives the next day, so she couldn't get herself grounded.

Frederick's house was better than Athena's any time of the year: Dad was too busy finding his 'lost genius' in the eternal mess of his office and mind to notice her, and Annabeth's stepmom had her twins and makeup and other shit to keep her occupied. Still, she prayed every night to whatever higher being it was that heard teenagers' prayers that the boys remain stuck in the running-around-toddler stage forever so Helen mayn't get time to rage at her.

But she had to pretend as if she escaped _after_ sleeping, and hence she had a few hours to spend outdoors. After a little consideration, she decided to hit up a nearby library and then a fast food place later.

She entered the library and checked for a vacant lonely corner. _Homeless with two houses—not really normal for a teen, is it?_ Her parents hadn't decided on the matter of her custody, and so she kept bouncing to and fro. _Is it because each wants me, or because each wants to ship me off, though?_ had been one of her first questions on hearing that, but she'd grown up to know that of _course_ each of her parents wanted to get rid of her!

Annabeth picked up some scholars' journal and began skimming it. She didn't see which subject it was, simply confirmed that the edition was the latest. She liked to do this—just read random writings so they may get inside _some_ corner of her brain, for later use. She'd always felt that it was better that her senses do the filling-the-brain part: Her imagination, if given free will in filling her brain, would wreck her intelligence.

The journal was a collection of papers on or relating to the Simulation Argument, the Five Minute Hypothesis and the Omphalos Hypothesis. Each author just proved the previous incorrect or unprovable and hence ' _Irrelevant_ ' and went on to state a supposedly better yet worse theory. Most theories contained too many assumptions and were labeled ' _Bad_ ' by the _very_ mature philosophers, and it seemed to her that theories were getting worse the younger they were. _Either the publication is inexperienced, or these guys seriously need to hire editors: Better to get torn down by your own before publishing than by a rival within a week of glory._

The library was primarily meant for students pulling all-nighters away from the usual smoke and noise and booze at their accommodations, and hence Annabeth had no problem reading late into the night. But she supposed the _Failure_ card was a strong one, and when played with _Grounding_... well, it wouldn't be strange if little-girl-Annabeth had left the house in four hours. So she left the place and made for the nearest fast food franchise.

_Thank Satan for late night food!_

She took one of the healthiest _and_ most filling options and chose a table by the wall, so she could rest her head on it, looking tired of the world just like your regular teen. She finished her food in silence and solitude: She was in the better part of the town, and more mature. Nobody pounced on or tormented the blonde of sixteen sitting alone, _not_ waiting for somebody. She was thankful for that: She had had enough of that from Luke.

 _God, how do I manage to get this hungry!_ She thought of the probably precooked meal that would have been placed by her mother outside her door by now, like in a prison. _I would've had to snuck out to eat anyway._ Annabeth Chase ate way too much... but apparently never enough to qualify as healthy.

After draining a " _MOST PEOPLE DON'T DRINK DECAF, LADY!_ " coffee, Annabeth made a beeline for her father's house. It wasn't that far away, and she reached it in record time, brisk-walking so fast it was difficult not to break into a sprint.

In retrospect, it probably wasn't a good idea to chug down an energy drink to clear the taste of her hypercaffeinated black. But seriously, the pseudobarista needed to learn that there were options other than decaf and over-caf.

She retrieved the key from the legendary depths of her backpack, opened the door and padded to her room, taking care to not press the squeaky parts of the floorboards that she'd learned of over the years.

The door of her room was noiseless, thanks to some generously applied lubricant. Annabeth deposited her goods and crashed into bed without changing, to remain true to her role. Her stupid subconscious began questioning her why'd she ever _think_ of leaving the easy-to-hide-in paradise Frederick's home was, as was its custom every time she landed there. True, she reminded it, the people at Dad's talked more with the occasional saleskids than they talked with her, but the 'drive' to her school and 'walk' to the nearest Labyrinth entrance were figuratively both month-long intercontinental hypermarathon each, and nobody in the aforementioned people that were her family was rushing to help get her there. Least of all the adults: The twins... well, she couldn't yet understand them, but she was sure they'd do it—for the sake of causing havoc, at least. But no helpers.

She also often thought about how she ended up like this. Her parents were normal enough—her father a military history professor and researcher, her mom a 'prominent person' at a law firm. So how had she ended up like the way she was—having to constantly stop her brain from fantasizing about how her mother would screech and scream and wail when the assassin Annabeth would send tortured her even as she was dying, from hatching torture methods and preparing the final words she'd say to Athena?

Yeah, she was screwed up. Nothing would better that.

 _At least things with Jason are starting to pick up pace,_ was all she could console herself with as she smiled in a way that was fairly new to her.

With that last thought Annabeth lent herself to the _very_ dedicated god of Torturing Teenagers In Their Sleep.

* * *

Well, shit, _thought Annabeth._

_It was a memory-dream. she was the age when peer opinions first start to matter—the dawn years of academic life—and she was running to her mother in tears. Mom had told her that she was always waiting outside her school if she ever wished to talk, and for the first time Annabeth had been forced to abandon school to rush to her._

_Athena had gotten to her knees to catch Annabeth, and held her till the worst of her tears stopped. Then, when the urge to blurt it all out had overcome the urge to bawl her eyes out, Annabeth had asked her what was wrong with her eyes. "Am I blind, Ma? Like that guy near the dumpster near Jeff's home? Why are my eyes gray? Will I turn blind? Tomorrow? After that? How will I see you then?!"_

_"Annabeth," her mother had squeezed her shoulders comfortingly and forced her to make and keep eye contact, "can you see me?"_

_"Yes, but—"_

_"You are not blind. Get that in your head." She'd paused, thinking a bit. "What's the largest number you know?"_

_That had surprised Annabeth enough to pull her away from her apparently imminent loss of sight. "Hundred?"_

_"Yes, think of that many people. You know Jeff's eyecolor?"_

_"Black. But they look brown when we are on the playground."_

_"Right. Eighty of those hundred people you imagined have the same colored eyes."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes. You remember Dany's eyecolor?"_

_"Blue. Air blue, not water blue."_

_"Well, twenty out of that hundred have the same colored eyes. Now,_ I _was the first to ever have gray eyes—it's called a mutation—and it's a rare case. But you, you've got gray eyes with your father's blue as specks interspersed in them—another mutation right after mine—that makes you rarer."_

_"Does that mean I'm blind?"_

_"No. It means that you're one in a hundred hundred hundred hundred hundred hundred hundred hundreds! Not even disease will treat you ordinary. Not me and not you. Nobody and nothing in this world dares harm you."_

_At that, the barely conscious AnnabethAtSixteen thought,_ Wow, mom, that mouth was just _made_ for lying.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, this is not Jason×Annabeth. I'm not crazy, Percabeth and Jasper forever! Annabeth and Jason are in a relationship, but that doesn't mean the narrative will extol it. It is going to crash and burn real soon. And you'll understand why by the next chapter.


	2. Blue I

* * *

Jason hated Hera.

And he hated that she was so screwed up that on combining with his father's natural grandeur, her children were screwed up even more (which should have been impossible).

Ares was a brat. There was no other way to describe him. He thought that just because his parents were married, he had full authority over Jason. The guy liked to beat him up just to show off his heavily blood-splattered sweaty clothes, which had been previously white, in order to contrast. He and his suck-up friends thought it made him look a man.

Jason thought it made him look like a freshly used sanitary pad.

Yeah, that voiced thought had gotten him a few extra bruises. But after that, Ares' hits were more weakling punches to sensitive organs (not _that_ one, fortunately) and not just throwing his fists and feet at Jason's stomach and ribs to make him cough out blood.

Anyway... Ares thought that cutting his hair so weird that no one liked it and smoking made him a gangster (Though his smoking-speed was so cowardly and slow that it the others were half-stoned by the time he fully started). He had his father's money to get him girls and guys for the bad boy act, and his father's name to keep him safe. Zeus was strictly against nepotism, but the world was like—'Eh. It's just a facade to keep the critics silent. Let's please him by making the stupid punk look great!'

Jason hated the world, too, by the way.

But none of that crap justified the need for Jason to plead with Ares to stop beating him while also pretending to be in pain. It was a hard job, since he'd only started the pleading part like a month ago—Jason was manufactured to be too proud to ask for mercy—but the reward was worth it. He'd discovered that his stepbrother liked it when people whimpered in front of him. Thus Ares was satisfied quicker when he begged and then he'd stop beating Jason for the day and leave the house with a grin on his face. _Then_ , Venus would patch him up.

Venus was this gold-digger girlfriend of Ares' who had managed to be completely unsubtle about her gold-digger nature. Everyone (except Ares, of course) knew that, and she knew that everyone knew that. But Ares was too lusty for the female to listen to any complaints about her. And so she stayed.

Probably a few days and a month ago, Venus had heard about the anti-nepotist part of Zeus. Jason guessed that she'd thought that if Zeus ever looks at Ares' activities and goes 'Oh. This one's stupid. No money for him', she'd be in trouble. And that's probably why she'd first come to Jason a month ago and started bandaging him and promised to speak to Ares to stop this and other deranged acts to get on Jason's good side. She probably thought it could help her play the damsel-in-distress card with him later on, which was like three-billion-years-old to date.

As soon as Ares was satisfied and had slammed the door shut, Jason, easily ignoring his pain, practically leapt to go to the medicine cabinet, which was their meeting spot. He was almost there when he saw that it was _Hera_ who was inside the alcove of a room that housed the drugs and bandages.

"Jason _Grace_ ," she said to him, emphasizing on the name she'd told him was a traditional bastard's name for the Goldwing family. She liked to think that it would teach him to treat her like royalty. "What are you doing _here_?"

 _Spare me the superiority act. Remember that time I walked in on you BDSMing with my father, and asking him to punish you like a 'bad bitch'?_ A part of him practically salivated at the thought of holding that leverage over her by lying that he'd recorded it.

But he didn't. "Not to trouble you, m'lady: I was just collecting supplies for my breakfast." _God, that deadpan is smooth._ "Now, if you'd please excuse me, I gotta get the tincture to boiling for three minutes before adding the egg whites."

* * *

When he reached his usual entrance to the Labyrinth, he was twenty minutes behind schedule. The entrance was at the back of a convenience store that was conveniently deserted: the owner, on pay from Mr D, kept a particularly hot headed and rash employee for the shift where the most number of members used the entrance. He sighed (though he wasn't sure what for: the five minute walk to here wasn't exactly tiring) and pushed the door open. He leaned over the counter and said the passkey _Peleus_ as if it was a product he was asking for, and then Jason was led to a locked door.

He casually held the old fashioned, rusty lock, which was in fact a _very_ sensitive biometric scanner in disguise. It verified him and opened the door into the out-of-commission part of the sewer system they called the Labyrinth.

The Labyrinth opened in a few dozen illegal 'entrances' across the town. Jason had often wondered aloud why the authorities hadn't closed it up yet, but the only rational answer he'd gotten was that Mr D probably had someone in the civic body on _his_ salary.

One of the openings was the exit that led to the Compound. The Compound exit was centrally located and in a busy place, so that no one may notice people repeatedly appearing from thin air and vanishing the same way. Plus, the Society had made sure that the gates to the Compound were in the midst of a chain of blind-spots so that it mayn't stand out and still be invisible. Moreover, the building housed a lot of mini educational and gaming zones, so kids and parent-like creatures roaming about was no biggie for the cops eating their stereotypical donuts in front of the surveillance cameras.

The walk was about seventeen minutes long, but most times he didn't have to walk all the way: patrol groups often raced around the tunnels on their bikes, pretending to be graffiti artists, and you could get a ride with them to and from their origin.

He got a ride with the ever-drunk Dakota who drove horribly and got him there within three minutes. Jason was so dizzy and shook that he wouldn't be surprised if someone told him they were at some point driving on the roof of the dry sewers.

He saluted Dakota off, left the sewers and entered the Compound—the main gathering place for the Society members.

It wasn't dark and secretive like all the stupid movies and stupid books would have you believe. In real life, people _did_ realise that no security is impenetrable, and so every element even inside the 'secure' boundary was designed to betray exactly none of the activities that the walls had witnessed, so as to not incriminate any occupants in case of a raid. It would just look like a group of lounges for nerds, dropouts and various other unsociable creatures. With fair warning, everything could be made innocent. And no raid could ever quietly slip past the seven gazillion ton hulk that was Argus.

Argus served the triple purpose of subduing potential enemies, surveiling the Labyrinth using his 'hundred eyes' (a CCTV system, really) and embarrassing members by spilling their deepest and/or most 'hilarious' secrets to those ears which were paired with the most unquiet mouths. Jason was close with Argus and thus knew him to be a sworn dog of Mr D's. So far, Jason hadn't become part of the laughter section in Argus Daily, but that didn't have anything to do with friendship: his best friend and immediate boss Chiron had been the butt of some of his most notorious insults and shamings.

Jason kept his charm on Argus' desk. It was a pen cap with a strange but inconspicuous patch of design on it that none but Mr D's machine in Argus' possession understood. It was sort of like the tokens that miners kept on the surface base to indicate that they were inside if there was a collapse.

He left the man to his Hound of the Baskervilles and strode for his room, but remembered and stopped. _Gotta get rid of the sleeves._ He pulled his jacket off and folded it over his shoulder, displaying and drawing attention to his wounds and bandages. Bruises were good. Bruises showed that he was one of them, while still coming across as suffering the worst. _A good leader, and a caring and knowing one._ He nodded to himself as he confirmed the sloppily applied bandages that proved that he was what Members called a Loner—the type of teen that suffered the most.

Many offered to patch him up—most of them non-medics and of every which gender, but he politely declined. Even if letting that happen would gain him completed devotion of one person, it would distance all others who offered. Besides, Annabeth was the best (oblivious) publicist. Moreover, being with that girl _was_ the best publicity.

When he entered his room, she was sleeping on her stomach, reading a book that was probably Insurgent and probably his. His footsteps drew her back from Roth-world and Jason was reminded why he kept her around when there were easier options everywhere.

The girl was _crazy_ for him (in the good way). Her eyes still widened like crazy when she saw him and he'd never heard even a word about matters other than him and her from her mouth when they were alone. People had told him that when he wasn't around, she was a serious, intelligent and fiercely independent feminist, and it felt nice that his presence could make her the way it did. He knew she wouldn't deflect to his enemies' cause even when he came into power. Not for money. Not for security. Not for power.

She stood up carefully—it _was Insurgent_ —and came to him and looked with those cute grey eyes at his arms and said in a concerned voice: "The wounds are re-opening! We have to fix this," she touched his upper arm as if he had a third degree burn and pulled him to the bed. "I get a pair of scissors and a roll of gauze. You get on the bed."

He let her patch him up.

* * *

He had her in a half-hug by his side, and she shivered under the sheet due to the lack of apparel on her body. "You're so caring for me even when you are in pain yourself, Jason. There was no reason for you and me to do it when it hurt you. That's why I love you."

 _You love me for a trillion reasons, Annabeth, and each time a new one_. However, to her he said (exactly like the sap she thought he was), "It doesn't hurt when it's you. 'Cause I love everything about you."

"You always say that, but I can smell the whore's perfume on you. Why?" she cried into his side.

"Annabeth, we've discussed this already: I only allow Venus to come so close to see her reaction when I reveal her secret to Ares."

Her voice was loud even though it was muffled by his shoulder, and her tone was unmistakably jealous and sad and angry. "You don't have to record her grinding against you, then! Why would you want to watch that again?"

He looked at the eyeglasses on the bedside table with pride and touched the camera in them almost reverently (though they weren't rare enough to warrant such affection). "You _know_ it's only blackmail. All I want in that department is mine already." His other hand moved south of her waist once again, and she shivered slightly.

Now it was only hopelessness in her voice. "But she's so much better than me! I'm nothing compared to her. What if she offers some day? She's probably better at all this than me! I can't compete with her."

"She's older," his arm squeezed her lightly, "and that's all I need to make a choice."

* * *

Jason was clothing up when a thought struck him, and he said "Dress up, Annabeth. We have to get to the muster in seven."

She scrambled off the bed. "Okay. I just need a minute... I'll be on my way to Katie's—"

"No," he cut her off, "Today you'll come with me. You'll sit with me at the Gathering." He was sure the plan would work.

It took a moment for Annabeth to decide upon a reaction. Even then, she couldn't even squeak out the customary " _Really?!_ ". She just stared at him. It wasn't really a surprise: Jason was a Gamma, and Annabeth was three levels below his rank, so the company would be extremely different. Plus he'd never been with her in front of that many members before—to her, this was like being allowed to spend the rest of her life in the fictional universe of her choosing.

He took her arm and began pulling her out of the room as a joke, and that was when she realised her state and picked up her jaw and clothes and dressed up.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, "I'll lead you through the conversation. And I'll make sure you don't falter."

"Thank you," the blonde breathed, as they burst through the door and swept past slower human traffic to reach early. The muster hall was a cross between a fancy diner and an awards ceremony arena. The Members say in groups at the randomly placed tables, facing the front which had a stage and a podium for the Alpha to speak from and lean against.

Castellan was, as usual, late and that gave Jason time to show off his 'date', who was having a hard time choosing between a shy smile and a smug smile. He visited many tables and members of some importance showing them he was ready to pick up Luke's broken toys and mend them. Even nonbelievers had to admit that he helped Annabeth fit in, and many sheep were already exclaiming to their fellow sheep, "See? I told you! He chose the one Castellan dumped."

Once the touring had ended, he sat at his usual place and waited for people to join him, and also for Luke Castellan to arrive and begin the traditional-but-pretty-useless daily briefing. For the former it wasn't a long wait.

Gwen was always the first to initiate small talk. "So, Annabeth, I saw you come in pretty long-faced...?"

She looked surprised at being addressed. "It's my mother. I got a zero in a test series last week. It had negative marking and untaught-yet concepts. She almost killed me. It doesn't matter if I was ranked first in spite of that one zero."

There were a few sounds of sympathy. Jason didn't want to steal her first great public moment, but the place was too nice to not butt in. "You don't appreciate your position, Annabeth. You at least _have_ a mother to argue with!" He didn't have much love for his mother, but his table-mates were mostly ones who hated their fathers, and hence the anti-father theme. "Zeus stole the one person that cared for me. As if forcing me to this daily torture wasn't enough!"

Annabeth looked torn between apologizing for spawning a touchy topic and comforting him, so he helped her by pulling her closer with his dominant arm, and faked a moment of weakness as he changed his bearing completely. "I'll bear it all just to meet her again. Even the torture. Though usually it's nothing compared to what we're trained for here, it all accumulates till you break down."

From next to Gwen, Ethan Nakamura gave him a look through his functioning eye. "I've _told_ you I could get rid of your brother. Seriously, I won't even ask for much—just two days of your coke privileges. For you that's hardly any price for cold revenge: you don't even use your coke privileges!"

"Dude, your own supply is enough to kill you before you reach twenty five! You can't take any more."

The one eyed boy just shrugged like _Whatever_.

Before Jason could launch into a lengthy 'I'm simply trying to save you from drugs' conversation, Luke came stomping in, slamming the door behind him.

Luke Castellan was the Alpha. He was the one who administered and led the members on behalf of Mr D. The post was supposed to be only decorative, but since Mr D was so lazy and laid-back, the powers were Luke's to take.

And take them he did. In the years he transformed his position from an attempt to spare the members the sight of Mr D to the only centre of power. Castellan grew like a tumor: sparking skirmishes with other similar organisations, gathering control and distributing it amongst his servants... he had burned through the last several months and he had taken took the Society along for the ride.

Of course, very few saw his handiwork. Most submitted to his plots and games and the few that could have sparked a rebellion left him to his own devices. The absence of Mr D's response could safely be assumed as disinterest, and Jason and the other of the intelligent few knew that it's easier to get rid of someone you see everyday than someone whose only presence was a video encrypted thrice and put together from its components in four distinct virtual servers.

Castellan barked his usual bark and left, but not before sparing Jason a formidable glare. Jason didn't care for Castellan's ego... at least that's what he told Gwen when she showed concern. In truth he was relishing the power play, as you usually do when you're the one winning. He loved the little tricks each player played, even when they were against him. All they would manage to achieve was providing him with more fun. He really shouldn't blame Ares for enjoying power.

This was his drug, after all. This was his real gift from the Society.

Perhaps it was good that with this final display of love Annabeth was his completely now: the success of the spontaneous plan had him all charged up and... well, he needed more of his drug. He needed to _feel_ more power and control. He hoped she was prepared for a waking nightmare.

But then he thought, why worry? She was his to destroy anyway.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Never stay in a relationship where you can't stand up for yourself and/or are forced to do things that degrade your health, psyche or self-esteem.**  
>  If you're worried about the gang stuff, don't. I promise it will be realistic and our characters will still be ours.


	3. Green I

* * *

_Percy was falling through black._

_Not blackness_ _, just black. Blacker than the absence of light. Blacker than death. And it wasn't violent: he wasn't falling at terminal velocity, which was fast enough to extinguish the chance of having thoughts except_ I'M GONNA DIE! _He was falling relatively peacefully, as if sinking through honey or something. He_ could _form conscious thoughts like_ Get this over with already!

_He was bored. Well, at least a part of Percy was bored. The rational one. The non-idiot one. On the other hand, the subconscious one, like an excitable puppy, was trying to pursue the familiar scenes and voices that blinked in and out of existence one after the other. He had given up on leashing it in a long time ago: its excitement at some parts—_

_A flash revealed an image to his right, breaking his thought process. An image of a bedroom with two bodies on the oversized bed, blurred as if viewed through an etched-glass window._

"I am the blood of the dragon," replied the girl determinedly, as if it were the answer to all questions.

"And how does that excuse your crime, my lady?" asked the boy, his tone amused.

 _Its excitement at some parts like that one... well, the Puppy of Percy's Subconscious got pumped up enough to still twist his insides, even though the view and the sounds were routine enough by now. It was one of his happy memories. He was supposed to feel incredibly grateful for such experiences and cherish them. But pretty memories and ugly memories cast the same shadow: darkness doesn't_ care _whether you're good or evil—whether you deserve it or not, the pain_ will _find you. One slip and you're lost beyond saving. Initially he'd thought that, like an overrun record of his mom's, the pain would eventually give way. Unfortunately, his amygdala seemed to have eternal, infinite and unerasable Cloud Storage for bad memories and hurt feelings._

_Read-Only Memory was a bitch._

_Percy's feet hit the bottom of the tub of Honey Or Something, and he fell to one knee, caught off guard as always. One blink later the void encasing him turned into a medieval castle of a mansion. At that the Puppy, Percy imagined, was performing one of those crazed-with-joy acts, seeing as how the place had been for him, a monument right up there with the Eiffel Tower and the_ Taj Mahal _. Percy relinquished the control of his body to him, since nothing could stop it from seizing it anyway._

_He went down the hallway, turned a corner, went up the stairs. Another hallway. His footsteps echoed back to him, making it seem as if a thousand infantrymen were struggling to keep time with his almost spirited march. His body walked to the second-to-last door. There was a puddle of blood spreading under the door. Percy wanted to recoil away at the sight of it, but his body still moved to push open the door._

As soon as Percy's hand made contact with it, though, he woke up.

 _That's new,_ he thought, perplexed. Usually there was one more scene after the mansion. _Progress?_ It probably _was_ progress. But, if precedent was any clue, the direction of the progress couldn't be healthy. At all.

He checked his phone to find a text from Grover saying ' _17 of them. All safe._ ' and got himself something else to think about. He rushed through his morning routine, thinking of treasures and lunatics and what all was remaining.

But presently Mom was calling him to breakfast, and so he abandoned his thoughts and plans in favor of food.

* * *

Lunch with Grover was always an ordeal. It was the only part of the day when he was expected to not only entertain another human personally, but to also talk in reply! Ridiculous! And being in the position he was, he _had_ to comply with the other boy's implied demands. This time though, he positively cherished Grover's company, seeing as how he had made Percy's job significantly easier and quicker. His friendship had borne more fruit than he'd planned for.

When Grover finally arrived at their usual table, he was grinning like the cafeteria was full of his fans or like he'd just completed the violent murder of his imaginary enemies. He tossed his phone across the table at Percy, who gave him a grin and caught it. Percy hurried shared the seventeen images to his own phone, then backed them up, twice. Then he changed the extension of the backups to protect them from accidental deletion (and also to keep them safe if the cops got involved). He slid the phone back to Grover.

"Nice work."

"Isn't it? And all thanks to these legs."

"Yes! Great, now listen, if you see Beckendorf, do _not_ give him any details of the plan." Then he quickly calculated the risk and added, "Feed him fake information and tell him to avoid us. Tell him what we're planning to do, if you must brag, but don't give him a way to stop us. I want _none_ of his moral values disrupting our plan."

"Okay...," Grover said cautiously, though Percy knew internally he was setting off fireworks in celebration of Percy's growing distance from Beckendorf, "Will do. What next, now?"

Before Percy could answer, another boy sauntered over to them and sat next to Grover. "Hey, guys! What are you _doing_?" he sang zealously, almost overly so.

Percy didn't even look at him. "Go away, Axe."

Axe sounded confused. "I— But I'm a sexy, manly angel! You never send away a sexy, manly angel!"

Grover nodded, looking somewhat disturbed by Percy sending Axe away. "You always need a sexy, manly angel, Percy."

"No we don't. Go away, Axe," he repeated, a little annoyed, "This isn't a _MaydayParade8123_ fanfic."

Axe went away looking like a heartbroken puppy. Percy looked up from the fire safety map he was studying and pointed out a location. "Get here after the final lecture. Stand guard outside the room, looking casual at all times. If and only if you see anyone heading for the door _directly_ , pretend to fall off your crutches loudly to alert me, then ask for help and buy me time."

"What's with all the _Mission: Impossible_ stuff? What're you gonna do? Why am I the lookout guy?"

"One, none of this is _Mission: Impossible_ stuff. Two, I'm gonna act broody, dark and villainous to coerce her into complying. Three, which of us is better suited to that stuff?" _Which of us is doing this for the umpteenth time while the other has wet dreams of being a mob boss with a leg problem?_

"And what are you getting her to comply to? What exactly are you aiming for? Money? Control over the top brass? And how will you turn these photos to blackmail?"

Percy shook his head. "If I tell you, you'll be an accomplice. Leave the details up to me." He knew fairly well what was going on in the other boy's head. "Grover, you see me everyday here. You know me. How can I cheat you? You'll get your share of the money, I promise. On our friendship. And more than one half, actually, seeing as how you're the one who's done the tougher parts."

Grover did not seem convinced. "You sure you'll get through this neatly and not freak out or mess up?"

 _Oh, I hope I do mess up. This is getting ridiculously routine now._ "We'll see."

* * *

Percy took off swiftly from the last class and, flouting all Rules Of The Crowded Hallway, arrived at the already empty target classroom at like 2.5% the speed of sound in the same atmosphere. Which is a feat, mind you, seeing as it is about three-quarters of the world record for 100 meter sprints, which did _not_ take place in crowded halls.

He had texted Amy to come at the location earlier that day, using her brother as bait. She clearly didn't think the matter to be urgent, because she did not turn up for a long time. While he waited, Percy tested whether his conversation was truly private: the population of the school consisted of just the art, drama and some other clubs right now, but he didn't want to risk it. He called out to Grover in what he assumed to be the loudest voice they'd speak in, but Grover didn't come in. Convinced that it was safe, he selected a corner to lean against as he waited.

When Amy finally arrived, it was in a hurry to get away. "Why did you call me here?"

Percy was laid back in the face of her urgency. But still, a little awkward and somewhat fearful of the consequences and of failure, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. He waited for the shift, doing his bit carefully. "I did text you. It's about your brother."

"That too: how did you get my number?"

"Oh, just places. Anyway, your brother." No shift yet.

She seemed exasperated. "Yes, what about him? Why am I here?"

That was when he finally changed. He voice changed to one surer and calmer, though that was the least of it. "Actually, nothing about your brother is why you're here. You're here for yourself."

"What are you talking about? Get to the point, Jackson. I've got better places to be."

He bowed mockingly, the new demeanor catching on quickly. "As you wish: I'll do it in a rush. Amy, if you exit this room without agreeing to do what I tell you to, I'll make sure inappropriate pictures of you quite nearly literally flood the internet."

Amy's response was expected. "What the hell? Where'd you get my photos?"

"Again, places. I don't feel obliged to tell you my procedure. Though it _was_ difficult: you don't show much skin, do you?" He sneered. "The pure angel."

"I'll call the cops," she threatened, "They'll kill you before you can post any pictures."

"I haven't told you the best part yet!" Percy said cheerfully, and it wasn't all show. He was in fact pleased with himself for coming up with such a brilliant plan. "The bastardisation of your photos will be completely legal. And not only will they be on the internet, they'll be displayed and sold in art galleries!"

"You can't do this!"

He moved closer to her. Close enough to reach out and squeeze her throat if he wanted to. "'Course I can. One of my more resourceful friends specialises in computerised nude art. He's completely legal. You see, I've got your signature on the consent contract, and your vocal confirmation. And in three hours I'll have your iris scans to complete the forgery. It's so simple."

Then she visibly and completely panicked. "No. You can't, you _can't_! My family will kick me out! They'll _kill_ me."

"I _know_ they'll kill you!" Percy said, "That's why I chose you. I knew your conservative ass would freak out over even a few photos where you're not hiding behind someone. So I levelled it up by perverting them and presented the threat that way. Your family, which I believe is ultraconservative to the point of Victorian-ness, will at best disown you and at worst violently semi-murder you. Don't you love how thought out this is?" _Appreciation of genius is its only reward, Amy, and your fate depends upon how you reply._

"No! Please, don't do this!"

_Bad choice. Now you suffer._

"I don't want to do it," he said seriously, hiding his thoughts and his rage which wanted to tear open her torso right then, "I know that's a cliche for villains, but I really don't want to. And you can stop it: stop your image from falling apart, stop your _life_ from falling apart. If you just _obey_."

"Please, I'll obey!" Amy's desperation showed, which was a very wrong move to play, ever. Especially when a psychopath is mad at you. "What do you want? Tell me! Just don't upload those pictures."

"I won't. Relax, Amy. I won't ask much. First things first, wipe your tears and school your expression. Outside this room you'll see people. If they look at you they must think that you've just slapped me, insulted me and stormed out. All my friends are despicable to you from now on.

"Secondly, tell none of this to anyone, 'cause the release is already scheduled. Every day that you follow my orders, I'll snooze it for another twenty-four hours. And no one but me can do it. If the cops know of this, they'll detain me, and I won't be able to push forward the timer. One slip from you and the photos will get to my acquaintance, who, being _very_ proficient, will get them posted and displayed in a week."

Percy heard a crash and Grover's cry, and concluded his instructions. "Finally for now, get out of here, and meet me whenever I say. I'll text you the time and location. Be ready for more commands." He grabbed her arm then and shook her, harshly whispering, " _Do you get it?_ "

"Y-Yes." She pulled away. "But—"

"Your face, _now!_ "

Just then Beckendorf entered the room. His expression was confused and distracted. "Percy? The DnD Campaign—oh, you're not alone. I'll... leave then."

"Yes please do." She was facing away from the door, but Amy's voice was harsh. How she recovered that well, Percy didn't know. _Perhaps desperation fuels humans better than we can ever know,_ he mused. She continued, "We've got things to talk over."

Beckendorf left. Percy praised Amy. "Nice skills. Now, _you_ leave. Out!"

She tensed up weirdly at that then hid her face in her hands for a bit, as if to press her features into a mean scowl. Percy watched with amusement as she looked up again, turned away and marched off. It wouldn't matter much whether she had a disgusted expression on or not, anyway. All she has to do was not talk to Beckendorf and Grover, and turn her face away from them, maybe throw in a curse or two. She could manage that.

The difficult stuff was yet to come to her.

He waited for a moment, as would have been appropriate if he'd just been cursed within an inch of his life. He composed himself, switching back to normal, and then stormed out himself, heading straight to the tall, burly son of a bitch who was acting confused, and asking, "What were you doing with freaking Amy in there, Percy?"

"Drop the act," he said, angry in a way that was more righteous and justifiable than his previous anger, "I know you know what I was planning to do."

Immediately a scowl clung to the other boy's face. "You really were going to do it, weren't you? Do you realise how insane and _wrong_ this is?"

Percy's voice was strained due to rage. "Why did you have to walk in there, you smug bastard? You _ruined_ all of it. ALL OF IT!"

"Percy, calm down. This is criminal; I couldn't let you do this."

He was half-yelling now, channeling his anger due to betrayal into his act of anguish because of his plan being supposedly sabotaged. "I was about to get her to bend to my will!"

At that Beckendorf sneered. "Didn't seem like it."

Percy moved to grab Beckendorf's shirt. "You—!"

"Percy!" Grover interjected, inserting himself between the two warring parties. "What happened? What went wrong?"

The green-eyed teen was still very hotly glaring at his criminal. "She called my bluff! She freaking called my bluff! And all of it went further downhill when this asshole barged in and demonstrated what geeks we are!" He turned on Grover accusingly. "And you led him here!"

"No I didn't! I never told him any specifics! Ask him, I didn't lead him here!"

"Yes you did. He followed your damn whistling here, didn't you, Beckendorf?"

The addressed boy nodded, not relenting in his self-righteous scowl. "Okay, are you guys done with crimes now?"

" _Yes_ , thanks to you! Go print those photos and stuff them up your butt, Grover. That's all they're useful for now." He shoved the two teens out of the way and stormed off, grinning as soon as he was out of range. _Yes, that's all they're useful for to you, Grover. Stuff them up your ass._

But then as he turned a corner, he thought of Beckendorf and his expression turned sour. Percy had sensed the Loki in him even back when he'd first seen the other boy's face, but he'd assured himself the tendency for treachery wasn't that deep, seeing as how the extent of his Loki-ness has been immeasurable for a long time. So Percy had ignored his own warnings and opened up to Beckendorf about everything, even the past he'd hidden from even his parents. He was the first person Percy had believed would understand, would _help_.

But the world, as always, had never been supportive of him.

The first person he'd thought would help him to his feet had openly _and_ privately made mock of his past and pain, tearing and jabbing at his wounds to prove them false. It wasn't even payback or karma, for he hadn't hurt Beckendorf or anyone till then—it wasn't revenge, it was just a way for his friend to taste dopamine and the high caused by undermining Percy. The sword of his past that had run him through had been pulled out harshly by his friend, and his lifeblood deserted him faster than ever. It was only logical that, out of all his functions, his sense of morality had stopped working first, and that he chose to distract himself from the disasters of his life in whatever way he wished, rules, ethics and Beckendorfs be damned.

And really, Beckendorf wasn't actually a thorn in his side. He didn't know about any of Percy's plans that he didn't himself reveal, and that single one too he failed to stop. Moreover, the sham of worry and care and morals was a poor excuse: Percy had spent hours scheming of worse with him. The day's events, carefully planned and fabricated, had successfully proved that Beckendorf would do his best to undermine Percy. _Can't stand me content for a moment! You've got the physical and social superiority, Beckendorf, leave some things for me!_

Percy calmed himself and focused on the results. The plot has been executed perfectly, he concluded: Amy was in his control and a traitor had been confirmed. _Good enough for a Lucifer-in-training, isn't it?_

* * *


	4. Pink I

* * *

Piper heard two voices address her simultaneously, "Don't worry, they're not for you."

_That settles it: I'm officially just one evil stepsister and one prince away from Cinderella._

Drew wasn't her stepsister really, nor was Aphrodite her stepmother. But why fuss with titles: the two females performed the roles perfectly. Even now, when the only matter was that Mike the Malfunctioning (who didn't even know Drew or Aphrodite) was catcalling her instead of them, they were quick to imply quite clearly that they didn't think he'd even notice her.

Drew's reasoning was somewhat justified. She resented Piper for being born with a platinum spoon in her mouth, being the daughter of a famous Hollywood couple. That was fine by Piper, because tolerating Drew was often like counting her blessings. (And it wasn't like Drew had much room to complain, even without her job, which enabled her access to a lifestyle equal to Piper's, her family was barely below Hollywood-grand.)

What Piper hadn't completely understood was why Aphrodite loved to play the Evil Stepmother. She had thought about it a lot and never concluded firmly. The two theories that had survived various tests were: (1) she didn't want a kid and even if she did, (2) she'd rather have a child who could shove a specific body part inside her and take her to the fiery heaven-hell of taboo. There was a close competition between those two explanations, and Piper let that be.

There was still a while for the traffic to clear out and Mike's car to pass out of audible range, so Piper, who could no longer pretend that she couldn't hear him quickly subtly glanced through the notes in her phone to confirm which image she'd projected to him the last time. _The Poor Little Rich Girl. Ah, classics._

The poor guy had fallen for the simplest and most evergreen cliche of all. And one of her most overused acts too. It wasn't her own creation (something that infuriated Piper to lengths that probably weren't healthy), but she thanked whoever had been the first to use it. It was detrimental to feminism, yes, but how then how else to fool men, if not by fueling their sense of masculinity?

Having selected her demeanor correctly, she turned toward his car, a few vehicles over, and, via a lot of frantic gesturing and mouthing, conveyed to him that her mother would kill her if she knew Piper was sleeping with him and so please stop. The urgency and fear were quite evident in her acting, and so it didn't take much to convince him to (effectively) piss off.

Mike the Malfunctioning have her a grin full of confidence she knew he lacked and stopped his work. His case wasn't supposed to last _this_ long, as she'd been so snappily reminded, but she had a good reason for it. The inexperienced and/or shy ones were always difficult, whether it was an iota mission or omega. They took their own time to figure out the how, and the persona Piper would have adopted would prohibit her from facepalming and showing them. (Because those kind of boys liked to lie that they were knowledgeable veterans, her image would have to inevitably resemble an innocent maiden from the Middle Ages.) The real veterans were more painful, but easier: she'd just have to wait for them to exert themselves upon her, and fall into sweet post-coital sleep.

Still, none before Mike had taken her so long. But, as she'd spirited explained, there was only so much she could do with someone with so severe a case of erectile dysfunction. That has gotten her a few days to close his matter, and she'd spent all of her time alone to search for a cure, or at least a hack. She'd found it, but there was still a while before she could meet with him and complete the mission.

Piper's phone vibrated in her hand, indicating that it had been an hour since she last checked her email. She opened it up and checked through the drafts to see if there were any orders. She opened the draft titled _Ultron_ (from about a year ago) and checked the last line.

' _The fact that the Vibranium thrusters were able to withstand heat that propelled an entire city straight up indicates that forging Vibranium is impractical: if temperatures that high couldn't melt it, how the hell was Captain's shield forged back during WWII?_ '

It came right after the _P_ that marked the text she'd previously read. She shifted the _P_ to after the question mark and reread and examined the passage. _A statement finding fault with the movie means a new task. Correct grammar means omega... Well that's a first._ Two 'to death' assignments in two weeks was either desperation or overconfidence. _Can't be overconfidence—the crime rates have been lower than ever this month, any mistake may draw attention. Or is it intentional? Draw attention to me and cut me loose?_

She stowed that thought away for later inspection, and continued to find meaning in the text written by her employer in her email. _An odd number of words means I'll get a call._ That was a potent point. She had to get away from her mother before the target called.

"Drop me here!" she blurted out.

"Don't you want to go to the library, Piper?"

"Change of plans. Pull over right now." Acting awkward was fairly easily.

The driver nodded and slowed the car. She jumped off urgently and power-walked away from the car. Just in time too. Her phone began to ring fiercely within a half-minute. She checked the person's name on Truecaller. The caller had identified themselves as _Mr Huge_. The second layer to the app, inserted there by the first batch of techies at the Society, showed her that the caller was called Brian Mylers, and identified as a he. It was a moderate name, the type that could be true. (Members of the Society often tweaked their phones to display either too common or too rare names on the second layer, as Brian Mylers and many other did on the first layer). So either he was a high-level Member or a civilian who liked to think he was a 'bad boy'. Probably the latter, but she couldn't dismiss the former yet. There was a chance, though a small one, that he was toying with her. Hell, he could even be her employer himself, finally letting her see him, probably intending to kill her after.

She let the ringing continue, waiting for the call to end. Her next piece of data would come from the conversation itself, but Brian had to be caught unawares for any useful information.

He called her once again, which told her that he was somewhat desperate, which could be a good thing or a bad one. She waited a long while, enough to make it seem to Brian that she wasn't going to pick up (again), before receiving the call.

"—cking nymphos don't make me wai—", he was saying. _Sixteen or seventeen, with a voice that's freshly recovered from puberty and which is more than a little shaky and wavering. Really, Mr Nervous is a better pseudonym._

Brian finally saw that she'd accepted and stopped his prior conversation with whomsoever he was bragging to, and deepened his voice to speak to her, trying to mask his inexperience. But she'd gotten to know all she wanted already: an arrogant pseudoveteran, who thought himself to be a heartless monster. And a stupid boy who'd gotten himself into a beautiful mess. ( _Or a genius beyond your level of thinking,_ the more rational and sceptical part of her cautioned.)

"Hello?"

She quickly searched through her characters, simultaneously looking around to see if she was safe from recognition. "Hello."

"Are you the one Michael talked about?"

 _Ah, found it. I'll show you nympho, Mr Huge._ "You'll have to more specific, there are a lot of Michaels in this city."

"And how many do you know?" he said, in a tone that meant _How experienced are you?_

"Enough to feel tempted to hang up. Hurry up, Michael's Uninteresting Friend. Prove yourself above the Michaels I know."

"You gotta look at me to see just how interesting I am."

"I'm pretty sure I'll find you uninteresting."

There was a laugh that was quite noticeably forced. "If Michael's right about you being a nympho, you'll never forgive yourself if you passed me up."

"Is that a challenge?" _Don't you worry, Brian, I won't pass you up._ "Let's see who lasts, then. Meet you at K-Square. Bring a car, will you? And a spacious one if you do intend to prove yourself."

* * *

The Rich Bitch act worked its magic and she soon had him sedated in his car just outside city limits. The boy turned out to be a civilian, thankfully, thus relaxing her hyperactive imagination that believed that it was always better to overestimate. She stretched a bit, got out, stretched some more, attached the controller to the car's hood, and edited the _Barry Allen_ draft to inform her employer that Brian the Boast was excited to sleep with the fishes.

She only had to wait for a few seconds to confirm that the technological geniuses back at the Society had the right configuration and that the controlling was smooth before she set to thumb her ride back. The controller would help remotely maneuver the vehicle right into a nearby river, where the water would wash off all biometric evidence that Piper'd ever been there, while the controller itself would degenerate thanks to all the nascent sodium in it.

She got a ride with some newbie abductor who was a bit of a problem at first, but complied quite easily after she'd slammed his head into the steering wheel and the window a few times each. The claws at his throat with venom-laced nail paint were also a big help. _Criminals are getting so_ docile _these days!_

She got off at the Compound and, after wishing Argus a good evening, went straight to collect her privileges. She was exiting the Vault, just about to open a bottle to let the elixir consume her as aqua regia seduces gold and as caustic potash eats zinc hydroxide, when Kira conjured herself in front of her and took the package out of her hands.

"Not gonna let you skip this time too, Hill. We haven't fought since about a century now I think. All because of your habit to drink yourself unable."

Piper was so fluent with her alias that her brain didn't differentiate between her true name and fake name. "I wasn't _trying_ to skip, Kira. It's just been too tiring to break routine."

"I thought you could lie better than that, Hill. Quick, the armory's waiting." The taller girl turned around and started walking briskly, pausing only to hand over the package to a lower-ranking Member to take to Piper's room.

"I know you know I'm telling the truth."

Kira continued walking facing away. "It's a lot more fun to act like you're scared, Cat. Oh wait, you _are_!" She made eye contact over her shoulder and managed to emphasise the taunt using only her eyes.

Piper replied with a grin and followed.

They stopped by the armory to pick up their duelling clothes and knives for Piper and daggers for Kira. (They often argued whether they were to be called knives or daggers, each citing a thousand sources.) Kira told Jake to herd out whoever was in the adjoining training room. The smith nodded and left. The Omegas he kicked out were indignant at first, but one look from Kira had them running. Her reputation was frightening, and her masks made her identity plain. Katherine Hill was not much talked about in comparison, and Piper took special care to maintain that. To them she was just another oppressed teen trying to break out of the shackles of the outer world. Beyond her employer, no one knew her identity.

They locked the door and changed into the standard black T-shirt and leggings that were the training outfit. The only rule for training with all kinds of deadly weapons was that you could only attack the covered part of your opponent's body. Any other wound meant that your opponent won. It was a good restriction, because any scars and holes in areas which were allowed could be easily concealed by most outfits. (You could increase or decrease the wounding areas consensually, after consulting a Beta.) It also helped in curbing fights fueled by testosterone, alcohol, coke or any other intoxicant.

And, if possible, killing was to avoided.

Kira began braiding her hair to prevent it from falling in her face as they fought, while Piper, whose own choppy brown hair barely touched her shoulders, reknotted her shoelaces just to have something to do. Kira pushed away from the wall she was leaning against, done with the braid, and sauntered over to her. Piper lunged at her.

She grabbed a knife and launched herself forward from her crouched position, left arm outstretched, intending to slash at Kira's leg. But the other girl seemed to have anticipated this and pulled the targeted limb as far back as it would go, while leaning forward like a ballerina performing a bow. She slammed Piper's left arm to the floor and squeezed it hard, to make her drop the knife.

Piper was flat on the floor due to her lunge and the pinned arm. She used her legs to get her other knife nearer—her trapped arm struggling for all it was worth, successfully keeping Kira's focus and strength—and brought it in a tight arc, feinting at her collar bone. She changed the knife's angle and trajectory at the last moment and slashed it up along Kira's side, drawing crimson. Kira hissed and bent forward fully, falling on Piper. She punched her spine and used the force to push up and away and move beyond her, but not before stepping on Piper's leg, jarring it.

Piper scrambled to her feet quickly, the breath knocked out of her by the punch. She shook her arm and leg, trying to wake them up quickly, but apparently Kira wasn't feeling unicorns and sunshine today and hence continued without giving Piper time to recover. She moved to sweep out her legs and Piper jumped to avoid it, realising too late that it was a feint. A dagger shot out and tore her T-shirt near her belly button. She (somewhat weakly) kicked the lowest allowed part of Kira's legs and pushed herself away from her opponent. Piper took deep breaths, in pain, _Should've taken a Pacifier dose._

Piper tested her wound to test if it was serious enough to warrant a trip to Will, concluded that Mr Sunshine would have to wait, changed her hold on the knives (presently holding one in icepick grip and the other in hammer grip), and charged.

But she couldn't maintain aggression for long. Kira was naturally offensive and good at it. She drove Piper back again and again, but Piper managed, by using the hammer grip knife as shield and backing it up with the other, to slip from under her strikes, and change the direction just frequently enough for them to keep moving in a large circle, and thus prevented herself from getting cornered.

"You know," Kira began, continuing with the battering as if unwearied by the extended attack, "'Katherine Hill' is a pretty convincing name. You've told me only a few people know your real name in here. Why do you require it, though, is something I've been meaning to ask you for sometime."

Piper parried two successive slashes and tried to find a gap in her form. "I doubt this conversation is timed correctly."

"Oh, just tell me! It's boring to repeat the same stalemate. The talking will distract either you or me and there will be some progress."

Piper parried an incoming stab out of the way. "My name is unique. Both the pieces. And easily identifiable." A slash connected. Piper's leg wailed and screamed.

Kira jumped over a low slash and pushed away another aimed at her upper arm, nodding: "Because your actual identity is a member of the part of society that doesn't take much to exploit?" A confirmatory nod from Piper, who was finally going offensive. "Or is it the exact opposite—you're really Katherine Hill and you're pretending to be someone else so no one finds you outside?" Piper finally got a gap and stabbed at the other girl's abdomen. Kira leaned away gracefully, and the potential gaping wound turned into a somewhat deep scrape.

"If that were so, I'd have borrowed your masks, don't you think?"

Piper imagined a small smile behind the masks in question. "Yes, I do. We're each half a disguise: you hiding your name and me my face. Though I suppose concealing your face _would_ be detrimental in your business."

"More than people would believe. They do care about what's up here, whatever they may say." A kick connected with her left side, followed by a strike tearing away a large part of the fabric off her right. Piper gritted her teeth.

Kira retreated for a moment. "Do I get an 'Ow'?"

"Ow." Piper forced her tone to remain monotonous, and they continued.

Probably seeing how Piper was at even more disadvantage than usual, Kira took it upon herself to continue the conversation. "So in your life on the outside, you're more known than the average person, but not by your face? The only way that is possible, taking into consideration the fact that you can visit the Compound almost daily, is that your semi-popularity is hereditary. Is that right? No, actually, don't answer. It'll just tempt me to find out. Still, anyone interested in finding a person _can_ —"

Exasperated, Piper cut her off, "Okay, Kira. I understand that you are thoroughly intellectual besides being good at stealth and violence. Not to mention your face that's glittering like forbidden fruit to me right now. Now please stop before. I. Explode. RIGHT ON THAT MASK!" She yelled and charged.

Kira chuckled, the sound muffled a little and three moves later Piper was on the floor, breathless and unable to decide which part of her body should she tend to.

"You should be thankful that your job doesn't involve life threatening scenarios. You'd be dead by now."

Piper took her time to respond, getting back to her feet, draining signs of defeat from her voice. "Everyone _else_ should be thankful that I'm not put in life threatening scenarios daily, 'cause when I die, I'll make sure to take down half the world too."

"If you're gonna follow up with something like 'I am inevitable', please don't."

That caused her to grin. "I was actually thinking of the guy who had the Terracotta Army built when I said that, you know. More about company than a statement or population control."

Kira mimicked a frenemy-slash-self-declared-psychologist, "Yeah... you've got issues."

And Piper wasn't going to disagree.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I _know_ she doesn't like pink and that pink is cliche, but her eyes are 'multcolored' or 'kaleidoscopic' which can't work as a representative color. One that works is 'Blooded Pink', but that's too long and revealing (Not that 'revealing' matters to Pipes.).
> 
> On another topic: Kira is my OC whom you'll be seeing for a few chapters, so do remember her. (I myself hate OCs getting too much spotlight, so if it seems that she's focused on too much, it's because it's only gonna be short-lived).


	5. Purple I

* * *

Reyna woke to blood on her hands and a familiar pain in her abdomen.

She tensed up the muscles there and bit back a cry of agony. She focused on keeping them tensed. Wounds always hurt when you displaced them—more appropriately, when you displaced the piece of anatomy they were a part of. Keeping her abdomen in constant relaxation was difficult, though, because of unintended jerks when she moved, so Reyna contracted the muscles and maintained _that_ position instead. It was a little painful initially, when the state changed, but thereafter it was easier and relatively... well, not painless, but at least less painful than the other mode, which was titled: ' _Hell Itself_ '.

Of course, it also meant that the capillaries would be squeezed together and the blood leaving them would get a little (meaning: a _lot_ ) hastier. Naturally, she didn't worry about it. She threw away a larger quantity of blood regularly by virtue of being a woman and by virtue of being Not Pregnant. This was _nothing_ compared to that: her body would get over it.

She rose slowly and tested if the pain levels were manageable. They were, which was a relief after last week's wounds.

Her hands though, were a problem. Depending upon how early or late she achieved REM sleep, her hands in the morning would either end up sticky with fresh blood or stiff with coagulated blood. She kept her fingernails clean and blunt and curved to avoid infecting herself or breaching the cavity in which her vital organs were secured, but it was still a vastly irritating task to wash the crimson out of her (very apologetic) claws and drench her midsection in cold water to stop the bloodletting.

She always placed an extra sheet underneath her torso every night to prevent the red from reaching the ones underneath, which were quite less temporary. She took off the sheet from the previous night and took it into the shower. She adjusted the water to hit it violently and dissolve away the material. Once she had made certain it was working, she moved on to the part of her morning routine that was much more common in teenagers.

A truckload of healthy habits and healing serum later (infection was never to be underestimated, though personally she thought her surroundings were sterile enough, and her occupational healthcare thorough enough), Reyna was ready to face apocalypse. Or Armageddon. Ragnarok even. Still, it was reluctantly that she left her room to face her sister.

Hylla was elder and acutely aware of it. And took joy in making sure _Reyna_ was acutely aware of it. What might have passed off as harmless sibling rivalry in a different reality had an almost sinister feel to it in this one. It was to be expected, perhaps, seeing the state of the world. Home is a reflection of the nation, as some smartass had once said, and so the Ramírez-Arellano family was very deliberately, lovingly and carefully messed up by the One Themselves.

And even though her judgement might have been biased (seeing as how she was one of the two accused herself) Hylla was the entire and complete cause of this mutual tension and not-mutual hatred. Reyna freely admitted that she hadn't spoken and cleared the air before, but the ordeal had been too much for a child then, and Hylla wasn't exactly making it easy now. _What's her deal?_ Reyna sulked as she rushed through breakfast to get away ASAP. _You'd think he was some angel, for all her concern._

It wasn't fair that she has to suffer from the nightmares _and_ her sister's anger, which was completely unfounded. _Unless she didn't get that kind of attention and never had reason to hate him. Well, at least not_ my _reason. Either that, or she doesn't think it merits—_

A flash of red forced her to stop thinking about it. _Blue. Yellow,_ she tugged her mind away from the thought, using random things as bait. _Flowers. Two. One. Explosion._ Starship Enterprise _. Captain Kirk. Captain Rodgers._ A5 _. Wait, when's that coming out?_

Reyna probably had a questioning look on her face due to that last one, because her sister was glaring at her like she couldn't believe Reyna has the audacity to freaking _wonder_ at a time like this. At least, that was what she'd've said if asked, as she did every time, though Reyna felt they were past the Age Of Mind-Numbing-Mourning in the Epoch Of Grief, trademark Kübler-Ross.

But why trust Reyna that she wasn't guilty? After all, she was the one who was psychotically ill (courtesy of Hylla's lies) and whose chaotic and destructive tendencies had always gotten them out of foster care when they were younger. No. Hylla was the one who was right. Always. Unless Reyna wanted to land in the middle of a billion hour session of accusation (and fitful crying and sniffling and accusations and cursing), which, very much to her sister's disappointment, didn't make Reyna break down in anguish and guilt. It was a wonder that Hylla let her live in the same _city_ even. Then again, she supposed that Hylla's mundane mind probably had schemed long and hard and decided that it was on her best interest to let Reyna live with her to keep an eye on her and turn her in with the police after it was guaranteed that she'd get executed for it. Which was ridiculous, since she wasn't a criminal (as far as Hylla knew, anyway), but it was how this shitty world worked.

Before she could reason with Hylla that not knowing when the sequel to _Avengers: Endgame_ was scheduled to release was the most terrible of sins, Hylla's glare levelled up to homicidal levels, and so Reyna deserted the remainder of her breakfast to escape.

Sympathising with Hylla was much easier when you weren't looking at her (what with her radioactive scowl and angry laser-beam eyes). Inherent egocentrism decreed that to the weak-minded reality shan't be known but brokenly, and so who was she to blame Hylla for a reaction that was probably perfectly correct based on what she knew. Besides, Reyna's resilience had maxed out to a stage where she couldn't understand which of other people's problems were big enough to trouble them, and so she couldn't guess what other factors in Hylla's life had contributed to that one glare and scowl.

If truth be told, Reyna even weirdly somewhat respected Hylla for staying normal. The admiration surfaced often, and was particularly marked when she was getting ready for a possibly fatally dangerous task which she would have never gotten into had she been a little more Hylla-level sane. Then again, in all probability Hylla simply had never experienced half the things she had. _Yes, that may be it,_ Reyna thought. And then she realised how much like a narcissistically angsty teen that reasoning was. But in her case, it was (most probably) objectively, verifiably true.

She focused back onto the task in hand and checked her email for any indication that the plan was delayed or changed. Finding none, she started for the Compound, shaking her head to clear it, but it kept returning to the subject of her past. "Enough exposition!" Reyna exclaimed to absolutely no one, exasperated, "The chapter's just started and it's already overloaded with thinking!"

Damn it! Some people just don't respect the sacred fourth wall. Ungrateful pieces of sh—!

Reyna, glaring at the sky in not-so-cool anger and clenching her fists, interrupted. "Did you just _say something?_ " she said, with the inflection being _Complete that sentence and I'll kick your ass._

No, ma'am! (Take my word for this: getting your ass kicked by a fictional character is both really, really painful and extremely humiliating.) Let's get on with it, then.

* * *

After suffering through the routine Gathering and some non-routine tension between the Alpha and a Gamma over a girl for the third time this week, Reyna was finally allowed to leave for the mission. She had to confirm the leads some Members had gotten about another similar group, with bonuses for taking their people down and placing cross-spectrum cameras surveiling their entrance. She wasn't about to go and set up surveillance without someone to watch her back while she worked or pick a fight with the enemy in their own battlefield, but she kept that to herself, since some people (as in _one_ person—Lupa, her don't-you-dare-betray-us 'mentor') didn't appreciate basic survival instinct.

Reyna often wondered if Lupa believed they got achievement points for getting killed.

Most of the surveillance tech she was supposed to be carrying was back at the Compound, in her room, and so, after disguising herself, she couldn't be traced back to the Society. Reyna didn't particularly care for safeguarding their secrets—it was just that without any professional equipment (at least none that was blatant), she could pass off as your regular stalker or someone paid to be a stalker, if the situation demanded it. She also obviously felt safer, now that she couldn't be known as a professional espionage agent and/or a threat, at least at first look.

Once she was in range, Reyna put on her ExtraSight glasses... and immediately removed them, her adrenaline spiking.

She took a moment to calm down. She brought her expression and nerves back to order, and put them on again. The device's function was to, via a very sophisticated version of AR, project the visible and concealed threats onto her retinas to notify her without letting anyone else know. It used visual, audio, post-visual and post-audio channels to collect data. The weapons, EMW concentrations, cloaking devices, cameras, everything that could harm a spy would be tinged gold in her vision.

Currently, more than sixty percent of her vision was pulsing lustrously.

She focused on the sky first. Heavy communication dampeners crisscrossed over the crowd in beams, blocking the signal quite effectively. Anybody with a cellphone would have noticed that the area was out of the service zone. Many people would have complained. _So they've got great contacts to keep it quiet. At least, better than ours._ That was also supported by the fact that the crowd glowed with weaponry.

Reyna procured an excuse to get a higher vantage point, and observed the mass of people below. _One in two? No, three in five is closer._ Three in five humans below had a weapon. And not ones to be taken lightly. And strangely enough, barring the stray war veteran or cynical sociopath carrying a pistol, all of the glowing bodies were female. Now, Reyna always supported girls performing vicious murder, but the fact that _all_ visible members of the group were female was somewhat surprising.

Clearly, the organisation was borderline cultist and better equipped than the Society. Either the leader was weird enough to set an all-girls crew as the reception committee, or he or (more likely) _she_ was weird enough to assemble an all-girls crew as the entire battalion. It was strange to see in effect, but not particularly improbable. Cults was the least of what was wrong with the world, and it was undeniably somewhat refreshing to see a 'gang' with (quite visibly) other motives than illegal exploitation of the unrest that the world was perched on the edge of.

She took a moment to wipe off nonexistent dust from the right lens, and it started recording the scene as it was being shown to her. A few minutes of video each for the weaponry, jammers and anti-spy IR-Vis cameras ( _Hah!_ ) and a couple minutes for the girls with the big guns ( _She's thinking of using_ that _in a place like this?!_ ). She noted that the visible members contained a healthy variety age-wise, unlike the mostly teen and young adult nation that was the Society, which supported her theory of their motives being different and probably really weird. However th—

Her vision was suddenly full of a dark blue. She tore off the device haphazardly and stuffed it in her pocket, furiously pressing both the lenses with all five fingers repeatedly, hopefully clearly telling it to stop scanning. It actually required only a single tap on the left lens to power down, but she couldn't take chances. As soon as she was sure it was turned off, Reyna bolted.

Well, not really. That would be suicide in this situation. Reyna's _mind_ bolted, trying to figure out an escape strategy that factored in the need to be unnoticed, while her body was restrained to a semi-casual stroll towards Anywhere That's Not Here. The ExtraSight glasses had the lifesaving ability to sense when other devices could detect the glasses' purpose and thus get the agent in trouble. The shade of blue indicated that such a device was within range. The color she had seen was very saturated, which meant that her undoing was that much closer. The blue light always pulsed happily as if saying "Oh, look, _finally_ someone who recognises me! I've got a _FRIEND_!"

The mission was certainly over, and successful. Reyna decided, however, to not tell Lupa and the others anything, at least not while someone as insane, power-hungry and testosterone-proud as Luke Castellan held command. A boy like him would seek only to launch an offensive on the other group, which would certainly fail, gauging by the enemies' firepower and estimated resources. No, the knowledge of the Weaponised Girl Scouts was hers only. She hurried back to undisguise herself and then to the Compound as inconspicuously as possible, praying that no one was following her, because she wasn't in the mood to take evasive measures right then.

Back at the Compound, she told Lupa that she'd found nothing at the location, except a member of a known rival gang whom she had to shake off. Lupa concluded that the previous reports were misinterpreted sightings of that known group and not some new enemy, and let her go.

On the way out, Reyna found an eavesdropping Beta and pulled the boy away from within Lupa's hearing range and told him to inform her of any future espionage assignments and sent him off. She collected her privileges, exchanged her on-field weapon for a smaller, casual one and left for home, food, sleep and a homicidal sister on the side.

* * *


	6. Blue II

* * *

Jason was not expecting the hot brunette.

He had been interrupted by a Beta in his casual propaganda/ascending-the-hierarchy tour of the week, and directed to a quite isolated room, the room the girl had just come out of. Jason was surprised and confused she'd been inside.

"You're not a Beta." He declared confidently, because he'd memorised all the faces that could hinder him, and also confusedly because why was she in there if she wasn't a Beta?

She looked into his eyes and he admitted she was beautiful besides being hot. "No, I'm not. Why is that surprising, Jason?"

 _So the publicity works._ "What business could you have with Mr D, if you're not one? You're not a Beta or a Gamma, and I don't believe you are Castellan's alter ego."

She smiled, her multicolored eyes glittering. "No I'm not; I'm Katherine Hill, a mere Kappa. I was just meeting with an interested person."

Jason did not believe her. "The Beta who sent me here told me that this room contains a single screen with a single immutable connection that leads to Mr D. No one sees him so casually."

Hill appeared shocked by that. She said, "You don't know how helpful and surprising that is. I didn't know it was Mr D who was interested! He's always called himself Rapunzel and the video always showed an animation of her!"

Jason gaped for a minute, completely shook. When he was able to form phrases and clauses again, he said, "What was he interested in you for?"

"I'm not sure I am permitted to tell you." Katherine said. "Ask him yourself, if you wish, and he may answer you." She nodded at the closed door, then at him, and then scampered away.

As Jason watched her go, he realised that she would be a nice replacement for Annabeth once he was done with his ascension. After a moment more of watching the Kappa, he frowned. _I may have to get rid of Annabeth before that, though. All this is taking too long and Annabeth's body is getting worse each time. This Katherine will be a welcome change. But how to spin the story...?_

Then the brunette turned a corner and Jason broke out of his reverie and went back to the task in hand. He pushed the door open and walked in.

"Jason Grace," a soft voice spoke from all the corners of the room at once, "Son of Jupiter and Beryl. A model student, and a _very_ ambitious Gamma." The lights came on. An ugly man was onscreen in the far wall.

Since Jason's mind was only capable of thinking _Woah,_ in a very unflattering way, all he said was: "My father's name is Zeus."

"I know that; the government doesn't. Take a seat," Mr D nodded towards the lone piece of furniture, "I hope your campaign went okay."

"It isn't over yet." Jason said, shocked by the depth of the mythical leader's knowledge. He sat down.

"I know. You know, it would work better if this were a contest for the head of state. Not that Castellan thinks himself any lesser."

Jason's mind finally came back to the strangeness of this situation. "He—They say no Member has ever seen you. You're too laid back and cut off. You never punish his transgressions. He's taken your place."

"Has he? I know you boys think the one who holds the strings is the strongest in this puppet show, but let me enlighten you: the one with the scissors is the only one who can play God. You think I'm uninvolved, but Castellan knows I'm the one who's recruited all the Betas. I can have whatever I wish done."

Jason was shocked. "You mean you recruited the Betas and control them? Know them from the inside out enough to make them obey any command? Even that masked one?"

"Yes, I do. No, I won't make her remove her mask for you like a magic trick. No, not even if you ask for an official favor. Now tell me, what was your plan to win Luke's position?"

"I was going to kill him," Jason admitted, "One of the slaves he calls to his room. Small firearm. The Betas are recluses that won't step up." It felt strange to explain his reasoning to somebody else. He also belatedly registered that Mr D had said his mother's name was 'Beryl', a fact Jason hadn't bothered to ever check up, since she'd probably turn out to be a whore of some kind. "Why am I here, Mr D?"

"To exhibit yourself, as a trial, and I believe you've passed. I'm promoting you."

"To what rank?" He asked. He didn't think the Betas would accept a new member, and whatever Mr D said, he surely didn't have enough control to off Luke so soon.

"Oh, I'm sure something will come up."

* * *

"Is it just me, or does this feel like something straight out of _Megamind_?"

"It isn't just you, Ethan," Gwen said, tossing her ' _Mutiny 101_ ' flyer to the ground, "What remains to be seen is when does our almighty leader see that. This is so stupid. What is he even gonna _do_ in the 'demonstration'?"

"The only figure of authority he _can_ make us rebel against without hurting himself is Mr D." said Jason, crumpling his own flyer.

Dakota, who had been sitting at a nearby table and apparently eavesdropping, bent his neck over the back of his chair and looked at them upsidedown, saying "I hope he doesn't do that: I've got half a dozen bike parts shipping here right now."

They nodded at his point and Gwen turned back to Jason, asking "Where do you think he's gonna get the money and ammo from, once he rebels?"

Jason shrugged, not really paying attention by then, too focused in observing and figuring out if the Beta group had been told of his promotion yet.

"What do _you_ think, Annabeth?"

That drew his attention. Before Gwen had addressed her, Jason had forgotten Annabeth had been sitting on the same table as him the whole time. He remembered telling her to follow him around and act like a normal person and her stupid love and hope that he'd 'turn better' had caused her to obey, but her presence had been mousy and slight ever since he'd started on her in earnest.

"I—," Annabeth stammered, probably having noticed him watching, "I think he'll tell us in a few minutes."

"I know that, 'Beth. I was asking for your thoughts on it. What's happened to you recently?"

Annabeth looked alarmed. "Nothing! It'll pass."

"I hope it does." She turned to him once again, "Jason, cure her! Your girlfriend is so out of it and you're unbothered." Gwen accused.

Jason wanted to smack her for daring to imply that he was one at fault for Annabeth's being unlively. _She made me do it!_ He seethed internally, _You can't blame me because she couldn't take a little punishment! And even that was all her fault. How could I_ not _punish her for not consenting easily?!_

Jason clenched the fists that ached to be wrapped around both Gwen's and Annabeth's throats and said calmly, "She closes me off, Gwen. I'm trying to respect her strength, choice and boundaries."

Annabeth looked close to tears when he'd ended and God help him he was going to backhand her into the floor if she spilled a drop here. His eyes widened fractionally, the meaning in them caught only by her, and she got up and scurried off. He let a bit of the anger show, and said, "See? Breaching the topic triggers her. Please leave her alone from now on, Gwen, because I'm trying my best to help her when we're alone together, and I _will_ come find help when my best is no longer enough."

Gwen nodded, apologized, turned her eyes to the floor, ashamed and horrified in the correct proportion. The talk at Jason's table died down without her to buoy it and stayed so till Luke's arrival.

Luke Castellan swaggered in with a train of four Deltas and his current slave who looked all kinds of underage. Jason had heard that the Betas always have the best catch as a chew toy to keep him satisfied till she died from the cumulative torture and chemicals he gave her. The entourage stepped back as the Alpha reached the glass podium. Luke's eyes swept the audience.

"Well," he said, grinning as if he'd just got his hands on some nukes, "this is the highest attendance at a Gathering in my time. I hope that means you're excited."

Since the atmosphere didn't really warrant enthusiastic screams and shouts, most Members simply nodded in agreement, though the intensity ranged from frantic to sarcastic. Jason noticed the Beta group was all neutral faces.

"As you know from the flyers," Luke continued, "I'm here to show you how to mutiny. To elaborate, this session will consist of three things. One, I'm gonna show you how I've made us self dependent. Two, we'll spark off the rebellion. Three, I'll give you the four hours to load everything up and move to the new location or die in the fire I'll set to this building. How's that for a plan?"

Default murmurs of assent were heard all around the hall, and then Luke continued, "So, how have I made us self dependent, and why does explaining this to you matter? A bit of background first: Mr D is little more than a drunk with money, greed, a short memory, and a few chance contacts. One of your regular shitty adult stereotypes. Unlike the other adults in this category, though, who are either mostly legal capitalists or drug lords or arms dealers, this bastard recruited a bunch of airheads to trap and harvest the heads and bodies that the teens in this city, _you_ , have to provide. All he had to do was to provide the bait and sustenance, which I believe I have found the source of. Which means you don't have to worry about your gadgets and tech and drugs, since there will be no change in their supply. As for the items in the Register, I'm assigning a special team to get those requests done.

"Now, before I go into the details, I want to answer the second question. The reason that I'm explaining to you all this shit is because I want to reinforce how hard this was and why you'll never be able to rebel against _me_." He smiled brightly at that, and paused to pay special interest to the areas Jason knew contained most of his haters. He himself got a grin from the other boy.

When he started again, he chocked.

At first, Jason thought it was a trick for whatever reason, but then Luke's eyes bulged too wide for it to be an act and slumped against the lectern. One of the Delta bodyguards moved to check on him, but stopped before getting there, because then the Alpha started to burn.

The fire was sudden and miraculous, flooding from his center to engulf his entire body. Jason could _see_ his limbs going rigid, keeping him upright for them to see his torture. His mouth opened in a silent scream, the horror and pain visible and much more terrifying in the absence of doing as context. The veins in his body began to burst, the blood in them boiling. The flames wailed, vacuums being created and destroyed which caused hideous shrieks. Or maybe that was just the audience. The glass warped the flames into an ethereal image. After just a few seconds, the gore was to much for even the worst of them.

When he dared to look back at the stage, the thing next to the base of the podium looked barely human. and all around Jason there was a deathly silence. Well... except for some people hurling under their tables. Which made it even more unsettling.

Then an image of the grossest man on earth appeared on the wall behind the stage. "I hope for your life that we're transmitting, Leneus." Mr D said, through the same speakers Luke has been using. He was looking behind where the camera presumably was. Jason hoped for all of their lives that more Members didn't start throwing up at seeing his face. Mr D refocused on the lens and looked at Luke's charred body. He chuckled, saying "'I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.' How little do you kids know about fire! You treat it as a boon and a fuel and an incarnation of your spirit and dedication, when all of it is simply a quick version of decay and corrosion." He looked critically at the assembly and continued, "Anyway, back to the topic—Jamie Lannister, please step up."

Jason knew it was him—Andrew the Beta had told him it was usual for Mr D to say the wrong name, and it was logical for him to be called. But he wasn't going to step up without everyone _else_ knowing without doubt that he was the one being called. He didn't want to be insulted or seem power-hungry, even temporarily.

Mr D rolled his eyes, "Is it the body?" He pointed at the two Deltas that were still standing, "You two, drag Lucian Graymark out or I'll set you on fire too." They rushed to obey. "Jim, step up now. Don't tell me you don't know I'm calling you. I'm calling you, Jace the blond, James the Gamma. Come up right now."

Jason needed no more coercing. He kept a normal speed on his way upstage, but took the longest strides he could without seeming alien or eager. He could hear his steps echo and reverberate, and whispers break out and break off. When he reached the podium, Mr D spoke again, and Jason turned toward the screen once more. "Listen carefully. This is my nominee for post of Alpha. Anyone who wishes to object, please speak up and you will be set aflame. I confidently predict that no one will have any problems with him, now or in the future.

"One more point: I can do worse than kill you any moment you displease me, and so please watch your tongue... _and_ your hands if you think of using the ASL or text. Good day... or not."

Jason blinked rapidly to clean the afterimage of Mr D's face and turned to the crowd, leaning into the microphone. "Eventful afternoon?"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tweaked Mr D's dysnomia a little to make it more comedic. The exchange between Mr D and Jason may seem a little strange and too brief for Mr D to test Jason fully, but as we'll see in the next chapter, Mr D sees a lot.
> 
> The quote Mr D said about fire was from Joshua Graham, author of _The Accidental Hero_ , though I don't know if it's a book quote or not. (I found the quote somewhere on the Internet.)


	7. Green II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy is not a fighter and is instead a genius ADHD teen and that'll be his resource. He's a nonconforming sociopath. This may go against the dorky canon version of him, but trust me, in the story I'm planning, this is the best characterisation.

* * *

Percy loved and hated the naive ones.

The second time he'd asked for Amy's presence, which was five days after their initial chat, she arrived in record time. They were at an abandoned hospital at the edge of the city, a perfectly secluded place. It was open enough that he could be sure that she'd come alone, yet covered enough for them to carry on business privately.

While she walked up the stairs, he checked for any signs of sentient life in the surroundings. Apparently, even the weirdest explorer group stayed away from this decrepit neighborhood. Amy's car was silent and no one had gotten out of it except her. Still, as a precaution, he led her into a tiny room that had the slightest of shielding in the form of a door. Though the neighborhood was decrepit, this hospital building hadn't deteriorated all that much. They'd built it well, but stopped when the more permanent equipment had failed to arrive.

Percy leaned against an unpainted wall and addressed Amy. "You're here alone?"

Her voice was without inflection. "Yes."

"And for a while? This may take long."

"I'm currently tutoring my best friend."

"Should've said partying instead..." Percy muttered under his breath. Aloud he said: "Good for him or her. Now, strip."

Amy probably wasn't expecting the small talk to turn into a command so quickly, so it took a moment to sink in. Then she looked horrified. " _What?!_ You want _that_ from me?"

" _Yes_ , I want that from you." He pushed off from the wall and walked towards her. "I blackmailed you using your perverted photographs and made you come to a location practically outside civilisation. What did you expect my next move _was_? Making you go with me on a date? To a charity event? Forcing you to come to a dance with me? Even for you that's stupid."

He was close enough that she had to move back to feel safer. "I—But you asked me to go out with you last year—"

He cut her off and completed for her. "And you rejected me and I acted all civil after it happened, _yes!_ I know all that. _That_ was because even though you don't realise it, there are currently about nine idiots in your social vicinity that want to do the same to you as I will. But none of them are smart enough to pull it off successfully or silently enough. They'll mess up for sure. So I thought, if one of them makes a move, and his plan backfires, every one of our classmates will be under scrutiny. Fortunately, most of the evidence will be primarily circumstantial, and so I pretended to be a completely calm and perfect suitor so I wouldn't have to be a suspect for long.

"About fifteen other people besides you in our school will swear that I'm still in love with you at this very moment—but about fifteen others, if called upon, will swear that they know it was all a sham to keep people from knowing that I'm really in love with Sarah, who suffers from the same problem. Unfortunately for you, I was provided bait this week. So, _you_ made me do this. _And_ you don't even appreciate the work I put into this! Now that's just begging for this and worse."

He tutted himself off. "Anyway, no time for this, Amy. Didn't I tell you that I had to be back at home in about two hours to postpone the release for today? I never carry my actual secure device with me so it never gets lost or forgotten or stolen or held against me by someone like you. Now, _quick!_ "

She paled further, but complied this time. He pulled out his ancient video recorder (which was untraceable and unhackable due to its ancientness) and began filming her, saying "Go on. How can this be any worse than what I already have?" when she faltered.

When she was halfway through the job, he removed the temporary storage card, inserted another one in it, and continued. After Amy was done, he recorded a few minutes of her skin going around her, removed the second card, deposited both of them in his pack, and secured it all up.

Only after that did he look Amy in the eye again, and as soon as he did, she stepped away further, possibly because of the look in his eyes: he'd always loved the reveal of his plot the most out of all, and this time it was sweeter than ever.

"Amy," he began apologetically and sympathetically, approaching her slowly once again, "there's something I just remembered that I forgot to tell you before. It's honestly my fault and there's no excuse other than it slipped my mind."

Her expression was apprehensive. "What? What didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing that important... But still, I should've told you that I don't really have a friend who specialises in computerised nude art. So I can't threaten you, not really. Also, I—"

" _WHAT?!_ " Amy was looking properly homicidal, but then she changed her priorities and dived for her clothes, but he grabbed her forearm and held her straight. The depth of her expression would've gotten her an award... _if_ she'd been acting. "WHAT THE FU—!"

"Language!" He cut her off, loud but not angry, and placed a hand over her mouth. "Let me complete. I have your signature from your data at school, but neither your vocal confirmation, nor your iris scans. The consent form was some crap I typed up to make you believe if you didn't take to the story without props. So, in conclusion, I had nothing to trap you with, no leverage. Even the photos were harmless unless _illegally_ tampered with. There, that's all." He said, and released her.

Immediately she tried to slap him, screaming "YOU BASTARD, YOU FUC—!", her eyes threatening to break out the tears at any moment. But before she could make contact, he caught her, having had enough practice.

He turned her around, pulled both her wrists behind her and held them tight, pressed her up against the wall and positioned his legs in a way that would dissuade her from kicking him, all in a single movement. _Oh how the conservative in her is screaming and crying right now!_ He transferred both her hands to his right, in order to free his left for... other (and more rewarding) purposes, later on.

"You never listen, do you?" he said in her ear, whispering harshly, "I said that I _had_ nothing to trap you with. _Now_... well maybe I can't post the video on the same sites as before, nor can I get an art gallery to display it, but it _is_ dangerous material. Probably more dangerous than before. How much time do you think it will take for the video of a reluctant underage teen stripping to saturate the population of this city? Despite the condition of my equipment, I can assure you the quality is fine. And as far as I gather, teenage boys are gossips too, and so it'll take no time to get around. I will not be imprisoned for it, I imagine, at least not before you get to the point where it'd feel better to die than suffer." He tightened his grip on her to emphasise his next point. "And I'm pretty sure I can still do various _things_ to you before you can escape. You will be saved further encounters, but with your life in exchange. And the problem with this world and its law is that I can torture you to whichever extent I want to but morality prevents these enforcers of the law from doing anything further than killing me. I die, but you get tortured, raped _and_ die. _ARE YOU WILLING TO TAKE THAT DEAL, AMY?!_ "

She broke down in response, sobbing uncontrollably for probably the first time in her life. Percy, naturally, grew excited. "Yes, cry! I _love_ tears. My life needs tears, and I've oh-so-unfortunately forgotten how to cry. More tears, more!"

"You monster!" she sobbed, willful still. Percy wondered whether she required Cuss Words 101. "I'll never yield. You'll have to make me. I'll fight all the way!"

"Oh spare me the lies. You're not the fighting type Amy, and my special plan for you renders you helpless. Even if you weren't subjugated to my will, there's this thing called anatomy, which would have ruined all your chances." He roughly pulled her away from the wall and towards the adjoining room, towards a bedding he'd scouted out the day before. Amy was crying quietly and quite passionately.

"The female body, unfortunately for you, can withstand a lot of torture before unconsciousness or death. It's a better recipient for pain without visible damage than the male body, anyway. And for a person like me, that is a valuable resource. I can hurt you in ways you can't imagine and to limits you'd think you would pass out or die before _but I'll make sure you suffer through it all._ No, don't thank me. I know what an angel I am.

"Now, where were we?"

* * *

After a nice long session with Amy, Percy went back home to his familiar room and its security. He turned some music on, locked the door and curled up with some books just like a teenaged nerd is supposed to. At least he thought that was what a teenaged nerd was supposed to do: his sense of such things was irreparably broken, and Calypso's notes were possibly out-of-time: Percy had relied heavily on Calypso's notes to conduct himself as a normal person until now, but they were rapidly approaching the point beyond which even she couldn't have planned.

Once he was done with the book, Percy grabbed his tablet and started the tedious process of editing his blackmail videos to have the best impact on the victims. It was time-consuming and boring, so he preferred to get it done with before more interesting tasks. He had just begun trimming Sarah's videos from two weeks ago (backlog is a bastard) when things got a lot more interesting. And deadly.

The editing app suddenly redirected to his default video player and began playing a thirty-four minute video from the seventh minute. It was not any he'd recorded, but it showed Amy, naked.

Amy was shoved backwards by someone out of the frame, and as she stumbled towards a very familiar bedding, Percy entered the frame. Amy's heel hit something and she began to fall onto the bedding. Percy's mind started to race.

_A video of today's events... Could I have left the recorder on accidentally? No, the PoV is extremely theatrical, not awkward. Someone else planted a second device, then—maybe even more than one to get the best shot. Someone who knew my plan, and who followed me when I scouted the spot out... The level of planning indicates that the sender is either highly motivated sentimentally or professional. Plus, they put this video in my tablet, which means they got into my room somehow, or my bag when I was travelling back home._

Amy was still falling, the beginning of a scream of terror could be foreseen by looking at her face.

 _How did they know when to activate this video right now? Not over the network, I've removed all communication and even timekeeping systems. Not over the web then, and this device cannot support such a high level of facial recognition AI. So someone is watching me right now, watching my eyes and hands, and they're using a custom controller, probably IR or Micro,_ he realised, which angered him, _The idiot tweaked with my tablet!_

Onscreen, Amy finished falling and started screaming, and Percy clamped a hand over her mouth. PresentPercy calmed down and quickly recalled the positioning of his room and surroundings, all the time looking at the video only, acting horrified by it, and calculated.

_Two windows... one overlooking the street and the other, the park. The street isn't wide enough to get a view of me from ground-level, but the park is large enough. The building across can be used... but someone as cunning as this won't leave so blatant a trail in the form of the perpetually observing and chiding hag on the first floor of that building. Hence the park._

ScreenPercy was getting down to business. PresentPercy cursed himself for showing down, because the window for finding out who this blackmailer was, was closing fast.

_To be able to see my hands, angle of depression must be... thirty to twelve degrees. The viewer is pretty far. Meaning high-accuracy long-distance binoculars, meaning the person has come prepared, confirming professionalism. The ideal site is... one hundred by tan thirty... one hundred seventy feet... considering the street and park boundary, that's approximately in the teenage-delinquent zone. The observer must be a teen or YA, then, in order to blend in. Thread 1: Do I confront or play along? Thread 2: How much of a threat is this person or group? Thread 3: What do they want from me?_

It took a few blinks and precious seconds to get the answers, but by then he'd decided the rush was useless. Confrontation was impossible because of about two hundred feet of LoS distance and absence of binoculars, megaphone, sniper rifle or teleportation. The threat level was high, obviously. As for intentions, they could be Good Samaritans, or Blackmailers For Hire.

The only logical course now was to first scare off the observer, if they were just a minion of the head of this group, and then follow through with the message. Percy abruptly turned to look out of the window and pretended to sweep the park's ground for intruders, squinting as if annoyed by the spy. A binoculars-wielding minion would surely interpret the look and scurry, unless it was a high-ranking, level-headed personnel. Then, he went back to the device, whose screen had changed focus to a different program still: the spy had supposedly used the controller to skip to the second part of the process of intimidation—the threatening. Percy registered and archived the fact that the viewer was level-headed and/or high-ranking, and focused back on the screen. A single paragraph had appeared on it in large letters:

' _I'll be brief and blunt. You have seen what I have. My friends will pick you up from your street at a quarter past eight. Look for the guy in Disco Era clothes._ '

 _Wow. Amazingly effective. No explicit threat, a non-shady register,_ and _a hideous outfit! This guy is Boss Level._ And then Percy realised that it also meant that he'd have little to no influence and power over the interaction (or interactions) ahead. The enemy had the upper hand, and they weren't letting go. Percy would have to accept everything that was demanded, because this wasn't something he'd planned for.

Strangely enough, though this was the moment any other person would freak out like "What have I gotten myself into?!", all he felt was the calm high (oxymoron, yes) that accompanied a victory, even though he'd clearly lost the game. Perhaps it was the Chaotic Neutral/Evil in him, the Moriarty in him. _Or perhaps it_ is _a victory, as in the appreciation I deserve and desire,_ he mused. _It will be nice to get recognition from an equal or superior mind for once._

_But let's hope this opponent doesn't use any more cheat codes._

* * *

Was Percy stupid enough to approach the man in the Disco costume head on? No, he was smart enough to do so. He hadn't shifted yet, so the apprehension and anxiety were prominent. And it was Percy's habit to turn nervousness into bad puns and worse poetic devices.

"You look very dishevelled, mister. Was there a _panic at the disco_?"

The dumb disheveled delegating dude looked quite disturbed by that, but apparently he wasn't allowed to punch Percy in the face yet, and so he resorted to the universal "Shut up," followed by a gruff: "Get into the white sedan that pulls up next."

Percy wanted to tell him that there were about three hundred thousand shades of white possible, but Disco Dude had already left him in the dust. Percy saw him duck into an alley and out of it a minute later sans the ugly clothes. He then simply leant against a wall and began scrutinising Percy.

A sedan did pull up within a minute, and it _was_ white, except not really, because it was more of a #D9DCEF than the generally expected #FFFFFF. But Percy knew it wasn't unnamed dude's fault: statistically, men were more likely to misjudge colors than females. (And Percy believed that arguing the RGB content of a car's color with a guy who had already been hit by an amazingly shitty wordplay wasn't in his body's best interests.) As soon as the car stopped, he tried the door handle, but before he could open it, somebody stepped out.

 _Now_ that _is a proper gangster outfit._

The person was dressed in all black, with the hood of their hoodie pulled low to throw darkness on the face. Their age was closer to Percy's than the previous one's, and he noticed he was taller by an inch and a half when they stepped closer and spoke in a whisper: "Hand over your dagger. Melee is no match for bullets." The voice was feminine and strangely muffled.

"Not so sure about that," he replied, testing the limits of his control.

In reply, the girl moved closer still and pulled her sweatshirt's halves away a little to show him that its pockets were cut open on the inside and the hands that she'd shoved in it were actually holding an SMG each, aimed right at him. She backed away in a second, but not before he caught a glimpse of her masked face. He thought he saw some designs etched onto it, but that could be a trick of the poor lighting.

She was back at the car door by then, and her voice had dropped a few decibels and a few Hertz when she said "Is that enough to convince you?"

Unfortunately, it was.

* * *

"You can strangle me, you know. As hard as you want, just stop under seven seconds. Any more than that, and I think you may lose your job."

The masked girl made no reply. He was correct about her wanting to choke him, and he was right about his importance to her employer. He wasn't sure about the time it would require for the damage to his windpipe to become permanent, though.

Percy had figuratively poked the masked girl so many times that she had had to shoot a dozen bullets at a wall as catharsis as soon as they'd gotten out of the car. He loved a short temper. He also loved that he was a guest and not a prisoner: his escorts were giving him a silent tour of the building they were in. If it was an intimidation effort, they were failing mostly: the most intimidating thing he'd seen all day was the female with the partial masks.

"Are they like a QR code for some face detector?" he asked, guessing for the umpteenth time why the hell was her mask made out of layers of partial ones. The boys that had replaced his initial escorts at the entrance were giving him 'shut up or we'll all die!' looks, and he had deciphered that (1) she was kinda known for her sensitivity over the masks, (2) most teens here were regular ones just dealing with and not crossing over to the dark and so (3) Mask Girl, who was seemingly shady enough to send out armed and with adults for missions was a mythical creature even to these who meddled with shadows.

"Next door on the right," she said without inflection, which seemed to be a talent of hers.

"I hope you won't eavesdrop," he told her, and walked to the referenced door.

Just before he entered, one of the teens called out, "Let him call you whatever he wants to!" He stored it and pushed the door open. It was a heavy, polished one. Royalty when compared to other sections of the building except the so-called 'muster hall'. _A feudal system, then. How far along is the revolution then? Are they in the Tea Party or Bastille?_

He entered the room and abandoned all theories of an in-progress revolution.

The only things in the room were a chair and a large-almost-huge screen. If the head person wasn't even _accessible_ , there could be no mutiny. And if even in their absence they were provided such an expensive room, these oppressed supposedly loved their oppressor.

He sat on the chair, which was the only logical thing to do. The screen came on. It displayed a man in his autumn years in the sense that everything in him was falling and deteriorating. He had the heavy lids, rheumy eyes and weak jaw of an alcoholic and/or junkie. His shoulders and what little was visible of his torso suggested a body that hated its owner. Percy wondered whether he had jumped into the human version of _Cars 2_ with the lemon cars.

"Perry Jacobs," he said, in way of greeting.

Percy processed that either he had misheard or this dude had pretend or real disnomia. That was what the guy outside had warned Percy about. He went along. "Mr Somebody," he greeted.

"Call me Mr D," Mr Somebody said, "I believe you know to be comfortable and frank with me. I'm not going to kill you, nor get you arrested."

"Well that's reassuring," Percy sassed, being unusually brave and thoughtless, "I had nearly irritated your employees to death on the way here and I was afraid they would exact the debt."

"They're not my employees, Paris; I do not employ them. They're more like _bounden_."

"So that is what this is? You get secrets and make people attached to those secrets toil for you?"

The man on the screen frowned almost theatrically. "You had seemed a lot more intelligent from far away, Primrose."

 _The ruse won't work on you, you mean to say. Okay, then. Here goes..._ "No, you don't collect secrets from everyone. Most people here seem too meek and naive to possess a secret so disastrous that you may have a firm hold. If I were to guess, except perhaps the more 'talented' teens and most adults under you, all the others are here because of the classic addict trap. They had no secret to hide, but you gave them one in the form of drug abuse and also made them wholly and singularly dependent on you. That provides a strong enough hold on the masses, while the classes needed a greater threat than that to act compliant."

Mr D chuckled. "All very good, but...?" he prompted.

Percy reassessed the kids he'd seen. "But... a significant portion of teens I saw on the tour showed little to no usual symptoms of chronic abuse, which means that either you were stupid enough to provide them with unknown and exotic drugs or that you trapped them with something else and will then coerce them into becoming pseudo addicts that'll work their butts off for the next dose like salary for an adult. Since the tour was intentionally meant to test me right now, and the message you sent me was cunningly worded cleanly, I'm going to choose option two."

Mr D nodded as if satisfied, "Okay, you're in."

Percy wanted to raise an eyebrow skeptically, but since his body anatomy wasn't cooperative, he settled for a "What are you taking about?"

"It seemed clear, Parzival. You asked me if you could serve me too, and I said yes."

"I did not ask whether I could serve you."

"Oh, you mean you want to go back home, torture a few girls per year whenever it suits you and go on with life. I can arrange that. I'll have them drop you off right where they picked you up from. Trust me, there's no need to kill you to silence you."

 _Because I won't disclose your secret without you revealing mine. Well played._ "And what is your counter-offer?"

"Kira will inform you, if you wish," he said simply.

"Who is that?"

"I believe she is the one who has been requesting me to allow her to brutally maul and then kill you." Mr D smiled twistedly. "Look, Porcelain, you are one of the few young citizens of this city who have become objectively demon-like to a significant number of others unaided. That makes you a prime resource. I am bumping you up from entry-level to near the top of the hierarchy. Next to Kira and... six others? I'm not sure. You may think this a blessing, but understand that I'm only this so I can skip the pleasantries and unpleasantries with you and maximise the harvest time. You may be an elite, but you will serve. Everyone must."

"And how do you know I'll accept?" Percy asked.

"You are leaning forward," he said flatly, "Some time ago you got a faraway look in your eyes and your fingertips are tinged pink with excess blood flow to the muscles courtesy of unspent adrenaline and/or dopamine. Along with other symptoms, that tells me that you are excited, interested and that you've got a score to settle, one you can't without me."

Percy was shocked and low-key dazzled. "How do you read so deep?"

"There are things that set a monarch apart. There are reasons why only a particular person is the Royal, and why they command the loyalty of an army even if their decisions may end up killing the soldiers' families. Every case is different _prima facie_ , but deep down they're all the same."

"I hope I will learn," Percy said, and then as an afterthought: "But first, I need you to skin a man for me."

* * *

"He told me to ask you to help me register, and then show me the ropes. Which part of that is literal and which is idiomatic?"

Kira, who had apparently received an order to be cordial, couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. "He allowed you access to the Register so soon?"

"Okay, what is _the Register_? Is it a register?"

Kira nodded, clearly not understanding the sarcasm and started towards the Register. Percy followed. "It contains a list of the favors from Mr D that members ask for, in exchange of their work."

"And I'm guessing by your shock that not many get that chance?"

"Most members' work yields rewards measly enough that Mr D doesn't have to be informed," Kira explained, "The Betas and Alpha work them out. What did you ask for? And what did he see in you?" She demanded, turning a corner.

"I asked for a man to be tortured to death over a few months," he said, "And my job profile was/is blackmail."

"It isn't so any longer," she said, and they entered another bare room with a bank vault built into the far wall. At Kira's gesture, Percy walked towards it cautiously.

Kira shoved him and his face slammed on a glass plate.

The glass scanned his face, lit up green and the door slid open, with the entrance of the room slowly sealing shut with a hidden heavy iron door. Percy recovered and glared at Kira, who shrugged innocently, which was surprisingly convincing even with her masks on. He glared some more, noticing her eye color was the deepest of blacks.

"That's for pissing me off. Now go on in. Write your name, rank and the task at the end. Did he tell you your rank?"

"Uh... he said it's equal/equivalent/similar to yours?"

" _What?!_ _You're_ a Beta? How the hell are you a Beta? Damn that man!"

"I won't, Beautiful, since he so delicately placed me next to you." he sassed, "Now if you'll excuse me."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Non-consensual intercourse is an intolerable criminal act. Forcing yourself on a person makes you a criminal. Do not ruin someone's body, mind, life by doing so. Explicit verbal consent while fully conscious and without threats, violent or otherwise, is a must. And consent is withdrawable. Remember that.**


	8. Gray II

* * *

Annabeth decided she loved quasi-picnics.

They were lazing about inside an artificially peaceful and pure garden landscaped to look like a meadow. They were somewhere in the middle of a skyscraper that she'd (using a lot of favors from the Society—conveniently being run by her boyfriend) designed in a fake name. The entire floorspace was a continuous grassland. On three sides it was wrapped by clear glass, looking over the city. The interior was well lit and warmed, and closely resembled a pastoral masterpiece, autographed God.

She was standing with a bottle in her hands about to go and join her parents on the checkered sheet, who were sitting close together, quietly taking and showing all the signs of an awkward teenage couple-in-making, or an awkward middle-aged couple getting back together. Behind them a little far away, near where the wildflowers started, Jason— _Jason!_ —was picking out all the purple-violet-lilac flowers because she'd turned down his original bouquet of white and orange. He felt her gaze and grinned at her over his shoulder, gesturing that he would be back in three. He wasn't halfway done, but Annabeth adored his enthusiasm and determination to please her.

Her mother broke away from her dad and turned to look at the skyline through the window, admiration making her eyes glow like supermoons. "How many of them are yours by now?" Athena asked.

"Three in this skyline, this current one we're in, and one more you can't see right now."

"And all of them credited to Henry Chase?" she inquired, and Annabeth nodded, still standing up, looking at her buildings. "How did you manage it?" Athena looked astonished even now after so long.

Annabeth laughed. "It was a _lot_ of work, but now you two have a twenty-three years old son, who's a genius architect."

Suddenly Jason was there by her. "It was exhausting to find you a fake identity, Annabeth, and I think it was redundant, too: With blueprints like those, they'd've accepted you any way you choose to present yourself." He smiled brightly. "I bet they'd even accept the plans gratefully even if you sassed them when they were going over your résumé and quite literally deciding your fate."

"Oh, my God. Jason, that was _one_ time!"

Jason just grinned wider. Her parents looked confused, but they respected that she had a life disjoint to theirs and wished to keep it that way, and thus simply smiled at her comic exasperation and underlying adoration. Jason kissed her forehead lightly, sweetly. "I know, 'Beth. It's the reason I love you."

"Because I have no instinct of self-preservation?"

All three of them chuckled at that, and then her boyfriend replied, "No, because you are witty, brave and well-spoken."

"See Frederick? That was what you were supposed to say. And to my face, eyes on my dress!"

Jason tried to playfully cover her ears, but Annabeth swatted his hands away, laughing. Her father protested, "Hey, it's not my fault you wore _that_ dress! I wasn't expecting that!" And just like that they fell back into a parry of lighthearted teasing and wisecracks. Jason sat down then, and patted the space next to him.

She made to sit, too, but before she could accept the invitation, a gust of wind slammed into her and pushed her back several feet. Annabeth was shocked and disoriented, but when she looked at Jason, he was beckoning her near as if nothing weird had happened. She shook her head to clear it of the hallucinations and started towards her family and boyfriend.

And was thrown back again.

Annabeth tried to get her bearings. Jason wasn't reacting to this and was still beckoning her. Her parents had stopped their romance and were reaching out, as if to call her into a family hug. She was about to start again, when—

"Do you really believe you deserve that?"

The coldness and nearness of Athena's voice sent shivers down her spine. Annabeth turned around to see her mother looking extremely different to what she knew: Distant, disappointed, annoyed. Confused and spooked, she glanced at her real mother at the picnic to reassure herself and stared at the scary one in disbelief.

"Do you really think you deserve a happy life? Do you believe the world will right itself for you?"

Annabeth was terrified, but she somehow got the words out. "What is this? Am I seriously hallucinating right now? And what are you saying? I already have a good life! I'm happy and everything is awesome." The thought have her comfort; Her joy was real, this crazy, awful, rude imposter wasn't.

"Your naiveness astounds me. You are dreaming, daughter, of a world that could never be yours."

Annabeth had frozen, but now she some desperately, trying to keep her sanity. "Why are you saying that?! It's right there—" she pointed at her smiling, loving family—" _You're_ right there! You love me, respect me! Why are you saying this?!" she cried loudly.

FakeAthena finally those dangerous eyes off Annabeth and looked at the pointed at version—the _real_ version of herself. "Is that how you think I should be? A domestic, maternal, moon-eyed, pathetic woman who loves so nascently? An Edwardian concept, a shell of a person, an ornament of the house, a _lady?_ Oh Annabeth, forget naive, you are _brainless_. Idiotic in the worst sense. No child of mine can be so unintelligent. Ask Frederick whom he spawned you upon, and to whom has he given my real, smart, prodigious, _genius_ child."

Annabeth wanted to cry. She couldn't understand why her mother was saying these hurtful things. Jason was still beaming and presently holding his hands out along with her parents. She tried to run to them, pushing against the wind. She fell, and dug her fingers into the soft earth to gain purchase, and crawled to her loved ones, ignoring the fake Mom behind her looking unimpressed.

She had barely gone a few meters when, all of a sudden, someone pulled her upright by her hair. The wind died at once, and pain exploded. Annabeth screamed and tried to hit her assailant to no avail. They turned her head sharply to the right, and she found herself looking into the eyes of Luke Castellan.

"Found me a playmate!" Jason's voice came from behind her, as if the person hurting her was him. Annabeth could barely think through the tearing pain.

"Jason! You saved me from him! Why is he here? Why are you hurting me?"

He tugged sharply at her hair that he loved and made her face him. "Deliciously delusional. Yum, yum!" he said cheerfully, smacking his lips.

"Why, _why_ are you doing this?! You love me! You care for me! Put me down! WHY? Why are you all hurting me?" she sobbed brokenly.

Jason touched her cheek softly. "Oh no, Annabeth. Don't cry. Save the tears for when you need them."

She flinched away from him. She saw her real family, the one who had been waiting for her had disappeared. _This is wrong! It isn't supposed to be like this!_ "Mom! Help me! Tell them to go away!" she pleaded with Athena—the scary Athena who was the only one left, "Please! They'll rape me!"

Athena was unmoved. "Not. My. Child."

"No! Please!" she begged. Jason started to drag her away and the pain increased a thousandfold. She twisted around as much as she could, looking for help. She saw her dad playing with Bobby and Matthew, Helen herding him away. "Dad! Please, help me! HELP!" Her dad never heard her, but Helen did, and she shrugged, smiling diabolically and continued to distance her father from Annabeth.

"I think I quite like your toy, Jason," Luke rumbled, suddenly a lot closer than he'd been before, "I hope she cries well and hard. I can guess she's a screamer. I must tell you though, I never stop playing till my toys are all broken."

A beautiful grin made its way onto Jason's face. "Oh, I would hope so."

* * *

Annabeth wanted to kill herself.

Her body was aching in such a messed up way and her eyes was stinging with tears of regret and longing and shame and pain and her mind was burning with the lingering memory of her nightmare. She hated dreams that made her believe that everything was great and awesome and glittery and that a loving and caring family and boyfriend were her reality, only to rip it away and say _You can't have it!_ She hated her brain and her emotions and her decisions and the world and life.

She hated herself.

_What have I done to deserve such nightmares? What karma is manifesting? I haven't done one thing to warrant these horrors._

She wanted to go wash the tears off so that the ones who were killing her may continue to do so, but when she moved a few more tears of were released, drawn out by the pain that wracked her body. _Jason! Why did I ever think this was a good idea?_

The first time she'd looked at him, he'd looked so... normal, so caring, so trusting and trustworthy, so _good_. She had liked him from the start, never thought he'd turn out to be so abusive.

Now she all she wanted was to end it all.

And it would be so easy: One move and game over. So quick, without hassle. Her body and mind were telling her that she should just stop, that this wasn't what she'd bargained for, and that this wasn't worth it.

 _No! You can't give up!_ Annabeth said to herself, trying to put an end to her previous thoughts, _He loves you. It's just temporary. He loves you._ She got up, careful not to disturb the wounds and bruises that Jason loved, and headed to the shower. Her arms and legs and torso and hair and face and her entire _being_ was screaming with pain.

 _He loves you,_ she chanted, _And you love him. You love him and he is a great boyfriend and YOU. ARE. HAPPY!_ She yelled at herself—even as she got into the shower that stung her body—reminding herself that no one should be able to see her scars, even if they ended up killing her.

* * *

Dressing up. She couldn't even do that one thing.

"Do this," Annabeth told herself, but even as she did, her hands shook with the prediction of suffering. She tried again. "You have to do this to get medicine and heal, Annabeth. Why can't you—it's just one second of pain! It's so simple: Even four year olds can do it!" Bracing herself, she pulled on a half-length denim and then a full length one, biting back a shout of pain as the fabric caught at her wounds. The other clothes followed, layered to prevent the blood from showing. "Good. Now it's just a short walk to Darius, Annabeth."

This time, she did it on the first try, because relief seemed much more feasible this time.

It wasn't a short walk. It was one hundred and fifty seven steps long. Each step she made sure she didn't stumble, bleed or fall. Each step she consciously smiled faintly and walked straight and elegant. Her wounds _burned_. Her blood pulsed rapidly, accelerating.

Darius was free and alone. He noticed her as soon as she was in eyeshot. He gestured her closer and pulled up a seat for her at his workable. Annabeth pretended to be surprised and joined him, as if her journey wasn't to get to him.

"Hey, Annabeth. How's the Mrs Alpha life?"

 _Oh, Darius. The things I can't tell you..._ Annabeth thought, but she said, "We're not married."

The older boy chuckled, "You may as well have been: Half the aromantics I've met in here have been gagging just being in vicinity when your tales are told." He grinned, and Annabeth produced a smile. "But if you wanna be specific, how's the Alpha's GF's life?"

"He hasn't changed much, but we're together a lot less than before. I'm trying to share in his workload—sitting with the Etas and Kappas to understand their issues and the like."

"Nice! Never hesitate to ask me for help, okay? Being the drugs guy is like being the forum wall in here. And I can get you contacts if you need better help."

Another smile she gave him. "Now that you mention it, I realise I want a different type of help." Darius raise raised an eyebrow in inquiry, and she continued, "Can you get me a Pacifier?"

He seemed moderately surprised. "You need a Pacifier? You, the goddess of calm and—in more ways than one—grace? Wild night with Jason?" he asked, but then quickly backtracked and put a hand up to stop her. "Wait, no, don't tell me. I don't think my demi ass will be able to handle it. Unless it's PG-13."

"It's not," Annabeth told him as he drew the serum, and then changed the subject, "But enough about me. How are things with you and Amber? How's she taking your orientation?"

Darius shrugged and passed her the needle. "She's unbothered. Wasn't even confused or curious. Maybe she knows someone who's also demisexual."

Annabeth nodded and injected herself, careful to conceal the scars and welts. Darius caught it. "That's a weird way to inject." She waited to see how he'd react. _Please don't realise I'm hiding my skin._ Realisation flashed on his face. "Have you never the done this before?! Annabeth!" he scolded, "You should've asked me for help! You could have ended up in a hospital!"

That wasn't her reason—at least not the major one—but it was better than the true, main reason.

"It's okay, Darius," she said calmly, try to placate him, "I know anatomy pretty well, I wouldn't have gotten hurt. And I know you're gonna say 'Knowing anatomy doesn't mean shit if you don't know how to find a vein,' but I know, 'cause I used to cut myself, and even pierce and puncture. Sometimes I'd cut along veins and sometimes along arteries to tempt fate. I know my body."

She hadn't known nineteen year olds could look so sad and sympathetic. "This was before Jason, right?" he asked softly.

"Before Luke even. Home sweet home was hell, you know."

He did, and told her so. Annabeth excused herself by telling him that she was really close to triggering, though the serum had started working already, calming her body and making it feel safe, which in turn made it feel that all it needed to do was heal and assimilate, and not be scared and think and ache.

It was a welcome change.

* * *


	9. Purple II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank God for _AphrxditeDaughter_ because she helped me write all of the Spanish dialogue. Also, all the major translations will be contained within the chapter itself, so you don't need to use a machine to understand.

* * *

Reyna was surrounded.

The mob wasn't advancing yet, but already Reyna could hear the whispers being traded back and forth. " _¿Que niña no lloraría por sus padres?_ " was the loudest one. "What girl won't cry for her parents?" She looked around frantically for an escape.

" _Una que lo seducía,_ " came the swift reply, "One who seduced him." She tried to not let it get to her.

A small commotion broke out in the part of the crowd behind her and she turned around as a woman emerged, shoving the others out of the way. " _Tía_ Leticia!" Reyna recognised, and stepped towards her, pleading, "Please, aunty, tell them it wasn't me! Tell them! I didn't do it! He did! _¡Por favor diles!_ "

When her _tía_ turned around to face Reyna, her face was full of rage and loathing. " _¡No me llames tu tía, puta!_ " she yelled, "Don't call me your aunt, whore!"

The older woman advanced on her, and Reyna tried to back away, terrified of her expression, but it was futile: she was trapped. "Please believe me, _tiíta_! It wasn't me!"

Her aunt reached her, not listening at all, and slapped her. Reyna lost her balance, her cheek stinging, but Leticia grabbed her arm, dragged her to the center again, and threw her to the ground. The murmurs stopped. " _Esta niña-demonio ha matado a mi hermano,_ " she said to the crowd, in the voice of a sentencing juror, "This demon-girl here has killed my brother."

Reyna tried to stand up but her hand throbbed and her check stung and her head throbbed. Aunt Leticia and the crowd were silent for a moment, every eye furious and on her prone form. And then, all at once, they sprang.

Kicked, clawed, slapped. Punched, threatened, cursed. " _¡Puta!_ Murderer! _¡Demonio!_ " They were shouting, "Whore! _¡Monstruo!_ Slut!" All around her, every single voice cursing her, "Demon! _¡Asesina!_ Monster! _¡Zerra!_ "

"No! It wasn't me! Please! Don't hurt me!" Reyna begged in vain. She could see _Tía_ Leticia beyond the crowd, smiling demonically through tears for her brother. "It was him, I didn't do it! He did!"

Then the men started to touch her.

It was too much for Reyna. Fresh tears sprang from eyes that could barely cry anymore, and her legs carried her away. She tore through the mass of people, her slight, thirteen-year-old body trying to slip past the horde of monsters who were calling her one.

She finally broke free, and ran.

Tired and sore, Reyna's legs could barely carry her, but she wanted to get away, and her body obeyed. Through deserted streets she fled, without a destination in mind, for there wasn't one. She ran and ran. Then once when she was turning a corner she tripped and tumbled. She rolled over and over into a shop and came to a stop against a wall. When she found her bearings, Reyna was facing her father, who held a bloodied piece of glass.

Father's abdomen was painted red, and leaking crimson. He had risen again to kill her.

He didn't waste time and lunged at her, stabbing the glass shard into her stomach, twisting and turning to bury it deeper. Reyna cried out and tried to pull his hand away, but he didn't let go. She tried to remove the glass, claw it out of herself, but it was stuck too deep. It hurt too much. Reyna wished she would die so the pain won't enslave her as it did.

Satisfied by his revenge, Reyna's father left the shard and wiped the blood on her face and clothes. Then he closed the door of the shop. She watched as he removed his clothes, unable to move from the shock. "Bellona _mi amor_ ," he said lovingly, and started their nightly ritual of abuse and assault.

* * *

Tense up. Clean hands. Dissolve the sheet. Heal the wound. The routine was... routine. The nightmare was routine too, but every time she dreamt her brain forgot her current life and thought the dream was reality. And so every night she cried and screamed and her father killed her and raped her. Every night her neighbors and family accused her of sleeping with and murdering her father and then attacked her. After waking the nightmare was recognised for what it was, but it seemed very much real while she slept, and even in consciousness, as far as her heart and mind were concerned.

The first few years she didn't dare sleep, afraid of the images and threats and of the pain and it was fatigue that would finally pull her in after each four to five nights of wakefulness. But she had evolved, and now could easily _go_ to sleep (the _waking up_ part was still horrible).

Reyna dressed up, semi-appeased her sister for the day, left home. Then she went to a secluded place and geared up. She had to specially prepare to face a lot of shit that day, since it was the day of the semi-regular Beta meeting, the first one since Jason Grace had taken over. The Betas were all headstrong and easily affronted and that meant each Beta had to take care not to paint a target on the back of their head. Usually they were at an unstable peace of you-don't-insult-slash-kill-me-and-I'll-do-the-same, but the slightest of deviation from constantly appeasing the others could spark off a bloodbath.

Reyna left the secluded area, taking care to check for tails. She was herself a stealth operative and quite fluent in the language of blood, but she knew that not all problems could be solved by murder, and so she was careful to avoid being followed.

When she reached the Compound, via a convoluted route, she gave Argus her engraved dice to check in and went straight to the meeting. She wanted to take her privileges and consume some of them before entering the mess that the meeting was guaranteed to become, but she wanted to get it over with ASAP. And surely nothing could transpire in that one hour that she couldn't get through when sober, right?

* * *

"What the hell?" Bill said.

"Oh no. I rather believe she's heaven's property. Hello everyone, I'm Percy (with an R) Jackson. And this," he gestured dramatically, "is Annabeth (with a B) Chase, if you didn't know."

"What the hell?" Miranda echoed.

"Lots of cursing in this room today," Percy noted, pulling out a chair at the table for Annabeth Chase, thus letting her replace perhaps the most well-known of the Beta team's members, who was absent today. "Apologies, m'lady Annabeth."

The girl in question smiled shyly at him as she took a seat and Reyna felt the strong urge to echo Bill and Miranda. She tried to quell it, but couldn't. So she tweaked the echo a bit. "What the hell is she doing here?"

Noises of inquiry and agreement sounded around the table, and all of them looked towards the new Beta who was already getting so annoying— _and at his first meeting!_ "I thought it was obvious. She's my date."

Chase glared at him. "Jason won't like you saying that."

"Friendly date," He clarified, waving it off. "I think he's mature enough to be okay with that."

Before Annabeth could reply, Nyssa interjected: "This is a _Beta Meeting_. A meeting of the Betas. What part of that did you not understand?"

"Calm down, people. I just thought it would be nice of us to include a representative of the Alpha in the discussion at least as an observer so he may know better about the workings and so his decisions may not contradict our own."

"' _Representative_ '?" Miranda was indignant and Reyna could sympathise. "She's a body he'll replace in a few days—weeks at most! She's nothing more than a trophy for Grace and was nothing more than a trophy for Castellan. I'm not going to let a poor excuse for a sex toy sit with me!"

Annabeth began to leave, but Jackson grabbed her arm and stopped her. Reyna could see there were tears in her eyes. _Are you kidding me right now?_ Reyna thought.

He turned to Miranda. "Shut up, darling, or I'll have to tell Mr D that the drugs you deal have finally gotten into your head, which then you'll be relieved of. Trust me, he'll be much more inclined to believe me then you."

 _In retrospect, I really should've downed a few glasses before coming,_ Reyna thought as Miranda brandished her dagger, waving it threateningly, "And what if I kill you now, new boy?"

"Hmm...," Percy seemed to think for a moment, looking around the room. After his examination was complete, he faced Miranda and said: "Annabeth, sit up a little straighter and lean forward a tiny bit more." Annabeth seemed confused, but obeyed. "Done. Now no one here can make you or me leave this room... or Earth in general."

" _What?!_ " The dagger-wielding girl spluttered. Reyna was starting to suspect Miranda was programmed to display exactly what Reyna herself was feeling and thinking. The entire table awaited his explanation.

"Even though you are officially a Fighter besides your drugs-related Betas duties, you're not that great at it. You can't throw that knife and you're not as much of an athlete as I am, so you can't really chase me down," Percy said to Miranda, "Therefore you can't kill me yourself. These three—" he pointed to Andrew, Nyssa and Reyna herself in order—"are the only ones who don't hate you and/or want to kick Annabeth out. And these two—" he pointed to Zack and Bill—"are the most objective ones currently and understand my side well enough and/or hate you enough to support me.

"So, I've got more muscles on my side, and _that_ one—" he pointed to Andrew—"is too busy ogling Annabeth—oh no, Annie, don't cover yourself—to protest against her presence. Since I'm letting him have even _more_ of a show now, he'll side with me too. Am. I. Wrong?"

"He's got a point." Andrew said unashamedly continuing with his staring while Chase tried and failed to not squirm.

"He's got a _lot_ of points." Jackson said smugly.

Andrew took his eyes off the blonde's body for a moment and glanced at him. "But how much of that is information and how much is observation?"

"My buddy Albert once said that 'Never memorise anything you can look up.' Your open asses are not worth memorising."

"Einstein, yes." replied the older boy sagely.

"You know," Reyna said, "I could take down all three of you on my own, and probably even if our resident pervert decided to join you."

Percy Jackson set his ocean-green eyes on her. "I know you can _kill_ all four of us alone, but you won't, because your body language clearly says 'I didn't sign up for this shit' and yet you are making no move to pull the safety off your gun. Your even breaths and undilated veins show low to zero levels of intoxication and/or adrenaline and thus you are going to sit this one out. _Or_ you've had a particularly filling and delicious meal and that's why your acetylcholine is spiking."

"Satisfied now?" Andrew asked, and when no one responded: "Let's begin."

"First things first, Annabeth, you can stop the display and hide behind me. Andrew, your purpose is served so back off. No disrespect intended, but you aren't much of a fighter so it doesn't matter which side you're on."

Reyna saw Andrew tense, but he didn't lunge. Chase dutifully cowered behind her savior, and the meeting progressed.

"Nyssa," Reyna began, "how are the reserves?"

"Out of proportion," Nyssa scowled, "The consumption this month has been unusual and I'll need to order at least sixty grand worth of ammo, because _someone_ decided wasting bullets and knives was the best way to kill time for all. His. Team." She glared at Zack.

"Andrew, is that feasible?" Zack asked, brushing Nyssa off.

"That much can fit the monthly input, but barely. So if there's any other demand..."

"There won't be one," Bill answered him, "if Miranda decides to lighten her hoard of assorted drugs that she blocks from the Members. Every single month!"

"I won't."

Andrew shook his head, "Then I won't be able to set aside money for savings."

"We could always ransom the slaves or sell them." Miranda suggested.

"Yes, but you'll have to permanently sensorily deprive them before you can send them out, to stop them from exposing us," Jackson said, "and no one's gonna pay anything for them then."

"No selling or ransoming the slaves." Bill agreed, "My shit is important."

Reyna disagreed strongly, but she had to stop before the meeting digressed into _Miranda Versus Bill Part IV_ , and so she said, "Andrew, how are the Brains? Do we need more recruits?"

He pondered and said, "Not really. I've yet to test about twenty odd Omegas and Zetas. I'll know within three days if we need to find more."

"No recruits this month, and the next six ones," Zack declared, "The ratio of Brains to Fighters is already askew so we'll have to recruit more Fighters to control any more Brains and I don't need any more bastards on my hands. Unless, of course, if someone else here is ready to share my load. You know, since most of your duties are almost nil now that Luke's eloped to hell."

"Nobody is here uselessly, Zack," Reyna said, "If it were so Mr D would've had sent them off with Castellan as company."

Nyssa knocked on the table to call for attention. "Which lets me segue into the next question, which is what the actual hell are you doing here Jackson? Why aren't you glued to some contraption like the other Brains? We already have someone to monitor the Brains!"

Percy shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose I'll do the stupid research stuff, too, but my major work is here, I think. My main talent is that I make good plans and good observations and my favorite pastime is to criticise and tear down ideas. What have you got for me?"

"You've come after your time, Jackson," Bill replied, "You would've been a lot more useful while planning and plotting assaults back when we attacked other groups like weekly under Luke. Hell, Kira's group would have even liked you. But there's nothing for you here now."

"Oh, I'm sure something will come up."

Miranda folded her arms across her chest stubbornly. "Well _I'm_ sure nothing will come up."

"Stop sulking, Miranda. Anyway, one of my best talents is learning, editing and criticising. I am sure I'll be able to help you all ace at _your_ jobs after apprenticing for about four days each. That sound good enough?"

Nobody replied.

"C'mon, give me someone as a trial and I'll prove that I can make you do better! If I fail, no more me. How's that offer? Point to the person you want me to improve."

They considered his offer, and then one by one each Beta began to point at their candidate. Reyna chose Bill randomly, since she couldn't decide yet whether she wanted Percy Jackson to fail and die or succeed and improve the Betas.

"Oh, come on!" Zack groaned, seeing the three fingers pointed at him, "Not me! I literally _just_ said I don't need any more bastards on my hands!"

"Nope. You said that about ten minutes ago, not 'just'." said the green-eyed boy cheekily.

_This is going to be so entertaining._

* * *

She cornered him after the end of the meeting.

Percy Jackson was exiting the room with his pet blonde in tow when she called his name. He turned around and paused. She told him to lose the girl and he told Chase to wait for him. Reyna called him inside to prevent eavesdropping.

"What do you want?" Jackson asked neutrally.

"I'm curious. Why was the girl here? Don't go through the 'representative' crap again because you know Miranda was correct. Also don't go through the 'she's a human, too' crap because you must know better than that. Besides, one look at Grace at the Gathering told you the girl was propaganda. So why bring her here?"

"You're smart enough, milady, to figure it for yourself. But since you're still not objective enough, I will explain." He leant against a wall. "As far as I've concluded, the Betas all avoided Luke Castellan and appeased him mockingly because they knew he did not have Mr D's support while they did. Since this boy, Grace, was selected by our hairless god himself, it may be prudent to appease the Alpha genuinely on the surface, and so I've brought Annabeth in here so as to show that we're at least trying to get along with him."

Reyna's nodded. "So what was all that bickering with all the other Betas? Why do you wish to piss everyone off? They may not seem like it, but the Betas are the most powerful people here except Mr D, Lupa and Chiron."

"Oh, that was just a knee-jerk reaction," he said. "Like, knee the jerk in the balls. Although admittedly, it's also a way to test who is who. I was in a dark room and all I had to light was a fuse. So I did, and remembered to pour water over it before it could reach the dynamite."

Reyna nodded again and said "I forgot to tell you, as the newest Beta, you have to go report the minutes of this discussion to Chiron and Lupa. Ask Argus for directions and inform him, too." and left, but she was actually thinking _Let's_ _hope you didn't misjudge and start a wildfire._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an **explanation of Reyna's dream and past** : Back in San Juan, Reyna's father raped her every night, seeing Bellona (who was a mortal woman who had left him for an unknown reason) in her. All this happened in the dead of night while Hylla slept and every morning he made her get conceptive pills and spermicide so Reyna did not have the evidence to turn him in. One night when he was particularly high on the idea, he said that that day they were going to go further, and while he undressing, Reyna took a shard of glass and killed him. Hylla got to know the next day, but Reyna, being traumatised due to her father's and her own actions, couldn't explain. Hylla was so horrified and angry that she wanted Reyna to have an adult's punishment for the murder and not a mere minor's counseling, and so they emigrated with her to the US, where they are waiting till Reyna becomes an adult and Hylla gets to go back home and get her punished. I know that's messed up (how can the punishment be any different from earlier since she committed the crime as a minor, for example), but roll with it. Also, Reyna's dreams do not reflect past events, they are just what her mind fears the most.


	10. Pink II

* * *

Piper breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was Annabeth Chase waiting for her. The Eta who had escorted her to the Alpha's room closed the door and stood guard. Piper took a seat at Annabeth's request.

When the Eta had interrupted her spar with Christina to tell her to follow him, she had assumed the worst, since the corridors were ones that led to Jason Grace's chambers. She had wondered briefly how the hell had he gotten wind of her task when all she'd done till then was tail his girlfriend for a day. But now that it was revealed that it was just Chase who'd called Piper, it was clear that her 'stealth' mission hadn't blown.

"I saw you were following me earlier, Katherine," the blonde said, and Piper's adrenaline spiked again because clearly her mission _had_ been blown. It must have shown on her face, because Annabeth continued: "No, don't be scared! I just want to know why. You can tell me, I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I—," Piper stammered. _Shit! Why can't I think of an excuse?!_

"It's okay," the other girl said, sending the Eta away, "I know. And I understand, anyone would be nervous in front of so many eyes. But I could see it in your eyes, you were scared and lonely. Tell me, who is it? I'll get Jason to stop them and protect you."

 _What the hell?_ was Piper's first thought. Then she went over the clues and dialogue, and concluded probably imperfectly: _She thinks I want her protection against some stalker?_ _Oh..._ "I— I can't." She bowed her head and stuck with the ruse while searching for a better one.

"I understand if you can't trust me." Annabeth moved towards Piper. "Can you at least stick close to me while you're you're at the Compound so the Etas protecting me can also protect you? Just... stay with me and the person who's trying to hurt you will stop. I know how the boys in here can be. I don't want anything wrong to happen to you or any female Member."

Piper's heart was racing with excitement, but her face she kept carefully nervous. "Okay," she squeaked timidly.

Annabeth took her hand then, and with a smile pulled Piper to her feet. "Let's go then," she said, "Let everyone see that you're under my protection, and they won't touch you."

 _Well, that escalated quickly. It's somewhat suspicious, but it also makes my job_ way _easier._ For almost a week, Piper had been trying to come up with a plan to spy on Jason Grace as her employer—now revealed to be Mr D—had instructed. This wasn't like her usual gig, since she couldn't exactly seduce Jason or Annabeth into giving away their secrets, 'cause they obviously weren't like that. This was clearly a job for Kira: why couldn't Mr D trust Kira, a Beta, was extremely confusing.

So she had read up and researched a lot and had concluded that she'd have to go all NSA and shit on Jason and then ninja and shit on his house and family to get to know him. And since a significant portion of stealth missions was getting a contact in the target's fortress, she had started tailing his girlfriend, Annabeth to try and find ways to make her spill preliminary information.

Fortunately, the blonde (who was introducing her right then to Castor, a Delta Brain, while Piper nodded interestedly, pretending to slowly open up) had saved Piper a lot of trouble with her overly friendly nature. True, she'd still have to go NSA on the Alpha, but at least she would have an unsuspicious image when she faced Grace next.

They had moved on to the topic of Annabeth's own contributions by the time Piper's conjecturing had ended. Piper widened her eyes and told the other girl she didn't know she was a Brain.

Annabeth shrugged. "Not much to call my own, anyway. Just some tweaks and updates to some machine learning heuristics and the second layer of Truecaller and other small things."

"Can't have been miniscule if it took you so high in the hierarchy." Piper picked up a pair of sleek glasses and held them up. "What are these?"

"They're called ExtraSight," Annabeth revealed, "Spy glasses. Use lots of AR, EMW and ML to locate weapons, proximity alarms, camera ranges, cloaks and other stuff like that."

"Annabeth, please tell me this stuff made you a Gamma."

"Only a Phi." She brushed it off, though Piper could see the pride in her eyes. "And I didn't really do much except cram in a few new features into the same model. Besides, this stuff apparently leaked out two years ago, and is for sale on the dark market right now. Castor had to add in the feature to detect other ExtraSight glasses in range so our agents didn't get caught after that."

Piper could sense something was off about the way Annabeth moved and stood but couldn't pinpoint it exactly. She archived it for later. "Still," she argued, "it must've made life easier. I can only imagine what's it like to be a Phi Brain. As an Aid all you can hope is someone trusts us enough to promote us."

"You are a Kappa, right? How did you get there? What differentiates higher Aids from lower ones anyway?"

"Higher ranking Aids get more secretive and sensitive jobs—and better privileges, of course. To get promoted you must get noticed by some Fighter or Agent and earn their trust. I was lucky enough to catch the eyes of a few."

"You mean _catch the eyes_ , catch the eyes?" She seemed to low-key panic.

"Fortunately, no, I do not mean that." Piper placated her, mostly lying, though she hadn't caught Mr D's eyes perversely, which meant it was also true to some extent, since her employer had been behind half her promotions. But all promotions sprouted from catching the eyes of her targets, so... yes, in the end, it _wasn't_ a lie. "Still, it's not that great a job, so most Aids are Eta or lower. How do you not know all of this yet, Annabeth?"

Annabeth's eyes fell to the floor, abashed and ashamed. "Before I met Jason, I wasn't much of a talker. I did my own thing, you know? And it's not like Brains aren't oppressed: I'm pissing my previous supervisor off even now by viewing the others' projects and showing them to you. I'm trying to get to know more, now that I've got the time. This Beta, Percy Jackson, even helped me get into a Beta meeting so I can get to know better about the workings and possibly help Jason."

"Good intentions," Piper praised, and then thought of a strategy to earn more brownie points and added, "I hope that's his only motive."

She caught the meaning at once. "Oh, no. He's a good guy: I know how to know thanks to Luke."

"Boys can change colors in minutes. You've got to be careful around him, especially if Jason's not around. Etas can protect you but probably not from a Beta."

"He's _really_ just trying to help. Thank you for caring for me, Katherine, but I know he's good through and through." Annabeth smiled. "Besides, he's a Brain, not an Agent or a Fighter. Rank doesn't matter if you don't know how to fight. Anyway, changing the topic entirely, I'm starving. Wanna get lunch?"

 _I suppose I'll have to cling to you, won't I?_ "Okay. But are you sure you want to be seen with me so much? Inside is a necessity but outside..."

Annabeth, who had been starting to leave the lab, turned around in surprise that was evident on her face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I told you how Aids are treated. I don't want people to change their opinion of you after seeing me with you. This much was enough: many Members have seen me with you already. You don't have to take me along with you outside too. Inside is okay because I really do need help to save myself, but I can survive on the outside."

It was a test, really, to see how much her ruse was working. It wasn't Annabeth's fault that she was gullible, it was just that she'd offered.

"Oh, Katherine, I don't care if the high-rankers don't like me if they see me with you. I am happy to keep you close to me every second if your life becomes easier because of it. Outside, too. Besides, you remind me of myself before Jason and Luke and all of his mess. I'd love to save you from your mistakes."

Piper whispered an "Okay," and breathed a sigh of relief that meant different things to Annabeth and herself. If Piper didn't have the threat of death by torture hanging above her, and the messed up life she owned, she probably would have considered Annabeth's generosity in caring and giving a damn about strangers in general to be... _God, I don't even_ know _what word describes it! Sweet? Endearing? Lovely? Great?_ As it was, Annabeth was weak and happiness was obsolete and not-dying was all that mattered. So abuse her friendliness it was. The regret and disgust were crying to be noticed, rotting away unheeded someplace inside her; Piper was too busy to notice.

When they were seated at a secluded table in one of the nondescript student-friendly cafes that populated this part of town, each with a coffee in hand, they returned to the topic of their work at the Society.

"How did you even end up here, Cat? I'm sure it's an interesting story."

She used the Katherine Hill backstory she'd already used a thousand times, of which this part was the only truth. "Not really. Basically, Family was really good at lowering my self-esteem, so I sought out the dark side to feel empowered. Found some recruiters in an alley downtown."

"Seriously? You could've been kidnapped, killed, mugged, raped! How can you just walk up to some people you know are evil?"

"Despite what I may look like," she said, her tone that of a scolded adolescent, "I'm not stupid. I trained myself first. Basic hand-to-hand, speed and endurance. Also some tactics to look more dangerous than I am. Thankfully, they were suitably impressed, but it hasn't worked ever again. You're fretting about me, but your story couldn't have been much different, could it?"

"It was. Very different, I mean. Luke Castellan was my boyfriend of two years before I joined. He wanted to show off so he drew me there, and I, quite unwisely, followed. He took me on a tour and I almost threw up on seeing the addicts and the slaves. I berated him and told him he was a monster, another idiotic decision. He dumped me right then and walked away.

"Since I had already seen the Compound, I couldn't be set free back into the outside world, so the Society had to keep an eye on me. And since the Society would've had to waste resources on keeping me in sight, they recruited me instead so I could earn my keep."

"But Annabeth, every Member has some secret the Society can use to control them if they ever think of going rogue. I don't believe you're an addict, so what's yours?"

"They learned my family is super cynical and inflammable. If I act against the Society they'll simply reveal (thankfully non-X-rated) footage of Luke and me, Jason and me, me and my work, and other footage all over the city. It's really very explosive for my parents. What about you?"

Piper took a sip to buy time to recall the lie. "Almost the same as you. Except the two boyfriends and Brainy work part. Instead, they've got hot tapes of me and my girlfriend and a some drug-muling clips. Both of which are nuclear warheads. Though I _did_ try some drugs under peer pressure last year. Didn't like them all that much, but that may be part of my treachery package."

Annabeth nodded. "'Treachery Package' is a nice name. You ever heard of anyone who tried?"

Piper's mind raced. _What is going on here? I've only meet her today, and she's already taken me under her wing, broken rules for me and is discussing semi-taboo topics with me! Is something wrong with her or is something wrong with me? She can't be onto my mission or someone would have taken me to the Alpha, but it can't be normal human nature._ She scanned Annabeth's posture, went over her memories of the gray-eyed girl, checked her inflections and register...

 _Nothing! Every movement, every word has been realistic! Either she thinks this is normal or it_ is _normal and I don't realise it._ There was also the possibility that the girl was acting _really_ well... but no. No one could act that well unless they were trained. And Annabeth had no reason to have been trained: her life was well documented, in the government records and the Society's own records; Mr D had not assigned her a threat value; and for God's sake the girl was clearly idiot enough to believe she wouldn't be seen as a whore for having caught two Alphas by these narrow-minded assholes.

So Piper continued with the act. She lowered her voice and widened her eyes, feigning surprise and unease at the topic. "To betray the Society? Should we even talk about this? It feels incriminating just to think about it, with all the turmoil that's happened recently."

"Jason won't let anything happen to us," Annabeth defended, but Piper could see the doubt in her eyes and her nervous ticks, "Besides, we are thinking about what bad things will happen to those who dare. That's the opposite of rebellious thinking."

"I'm not comfortable talking about this," Piper pressed, though she was unsure why, "Can we please change the topic?"

"Okay, Katherine. Let's go back to the Society. We'll talk on the way." Annabeth smiled again in that motherly way which should've been impossible for her to pull off since she couldn't have been more than one year older than Piper herself and Piper's face couldn't move that way even in her dreams! _SO HOW IN GOD'S NAME CAN SHE LOOK SO MATERNAL?!_

* * *

Being Annabeth's handmaiden was tiring work. Sure, Piper was familiar with the helpless doe act—it was essentially second nature to her—but she'd never had to sustain it for long before. Usually by this point things were on the more physical stuff. And even though it was second nature, Piper's real personality clashed violently with the weak girl mindset the pretense required, and so it was really, _really_ exhausting.

After almost three hours of roaming with and talking to Annabeth Chase, all she had been able to glean out about Jason Grace was where he lived, when he was born and a vague understanding of his family drama. Annabeth said that she had told Piper all she knew, and Piper did not doubt that. She could think of five possible explanations to Jason's initial willingness and then sudden shift to unwillingness to disclose his background to his girlfriend, out of which three were plausible after accounting for Annabeth's devotion to him and his level of intellect based on the little she'd seen at the Gatherings.

Two of those three required her to check out his house (a mansion, apparently) and the characters that lived in it, and do she decided to do just that. But since this wasn't her usual gig, she decided to do the NSA part first. She opened up her _Suicide Squad_ draft and thought about the message. Since it wasn't a common communication, she'd have to default to a skipcode.

First, she typed the actual message: ' _record of the leader,_ ' then recalled the movie and filled in the garbage to complete the skipcode:

' _(N.2, 0.1) For the record, not one part of the movie feels like the DC creation it is. The leader \n of overdramatic movies that DC prides itself at being, shouldn't have chosen such a shitty theme. They've produced great stuff like_ The Dark Knight _, and now_ Joker _, and we already know the comics have more than enough material for the movies to feed from, but still they chose this crap._ '

Within just three minutes of saving the draft one of Mr D's assistants had edited another draft in reply. The _How I Met Your Mother_ draft now had a new paragraph below the _P_ used as bookmark:

' _(Pr.2, N.1) I hate the finale. Its very sight is disgusting. Ted Mosby is a jerk dot com rocks! I would much rather watch a slash of sugar babies \n Marshall and Barney and sugar daddy Ted than this disaster._ '

After moving the _P_ to the end, she analysed the text. Firstly the text after the '\n' escape character was useless and only there so the code wasn't blatant. The text was also in skipcode, though unlike hers which had the form _(2 garbage) (1 useful) (3 garbage) (1 useful) (4 garbage) (1 useful) (5 garbage) (1 useful)_ in a series of natural numbers. The parenthesised text of the reply message indicated this was a prime progression with increasing number of important words at each step like _(2 garbage) (1 useful) (3 garbage) (2 useful) (5 garbage) (3 useful) (7 garbage) (4 useful)_.

Piper copied the message into a text editor and cleaned the rubbish. The encoded text was: ' _The sight is jerk dot com slash of sugar babies_ ' which could be interpreted as ' _t_ _he site is jerk.com/ofsugarbabies,_ ' which was a surprise since the evil rarely had time for puns.

Her phone's messaging tone sounded. A text from 'Emily' provided the other half of the requested info: ' _Bri and Ty patched up yesterday! Celebratory party at_ Lava Java _. Come ASAP._ '

The address of the encrypted line was across town from the Compound _and_ the Goldwing mansion, which was very bad, but she chose to suffer it because anonymity was infinitely more valuable than time or relaxation. Plus, the connection had to break into the Society's supposedly unhackable systems, which meant it had to be pinnable on other gangs if it were revealed.

That was one of the most prominent drawbacks of her background. Carrying a famous last name and a much less famous but still uncommon first name, she couldn't draw attention of any other Member, lest they blackmailed her or released information about her work at the Society to the public, and that meant not rising in the ranks, which meant an extremely limited access to the data and gadgets that a regular person of her skill would have received. Her employer was resourceful—probably more resourceful then anyone could imagine—but he still left a lot up to her out of most probably laziness.

When she reached _Lava Java_ , Piper took a causal tour of the seating area, pretending to with the merits of different seats while checking for any loose nodes. When she found one, she chose that take and connected her phone to it.

Apparently jerk.com was a messed up site where people voted on who was a jerk and who wasn't. Which was objectively disgusting. The ofsugarbabies profile ( _very_ new) contained two URLs and three sixteen-digit passkeys in its ' _About_ ' tab.

The links and the codes were thorough, at least. The first one displayed all of Jason's data from various websites and mock and real surveys in one long page. The programmer was skilled. It wasn't very efficient, since most data was either repeated or too specific, but it was helpful. She copied a _.mhtml_ version to her phone and checked the other link, which led to all his information relating to and collected by the Society.

It was from Mr D's own archives: the elegant minimalistic format and brevity of the reference page resembled what a Wikipedia page would look like after squeezing out the grammar and links out of it and it was very telltale. She had fallen in love with it the first time she'd seen it. She'd never had much use for the archives, since her targets had mostly been outsiders—in fact this was only her second time finding information about a Member—but sometimes, when particularly frustrated with stupid regular records, she wished she'd get more elite targets just so she could use the novel Mr D Special records.

Piper copied a _.mhtml_ of the that record too, sent a kill command through the node, and disconnected the cable from her adapter. She finished her drink and came out of her alcove to pay, simultaneously searching for directions to the Goldwing mansion. Zeus was famous enough that the location was well documented.

The little Piper knew originally about Zeus Goldwing was from her mother, and that was that his net worth was a couple orders of magnitude larger than her father's. The public records she had of Jason indicated that he was not legally getting any, which was fortunate, because if it were so he'd recognise any attempt to get close to him as gold-digging.

Jason's government records said he was the son of Jupiter and Beryl Grace, and the Society's records corrected his father's name to Zeus Goldwing. Beryl Grace was an ex-starlet who was ex-famous and ex-living. She had had some kind of a breakdown about seven years before Jason's birth and completely withdrawn from the public eye around the time of his birth.

The special records mentioned both his parents under ' _Exploitable Issues_ '. The other entry in ' _Exploitable Issues_ ' was the phrase ' _Check privileges history_ '. It was a generic weakness for all Members, but it being mentioned in Mr D's notes was a good sign for her, because it meant the issue was easier to exploit than anything else.

But before she could check out what's exactly _was_ the weakness, the directions came to an end and said that she had arrived.

The Goldwing mansion looked like the building equivalent of "Let them eat cake," with a touch of "They hate me, 'cause they ain't me." Even to Piper's eyes (which were well accustomed to extravagance and glamor thanks to her family) widened at the display of wealth. The property made it seem that Zeus' net worth was a few digits longer than it actually was.

Unfortunately, that much money spent on beauty also meant a similar amount of money spent on security, because rich idiots didn't exist in real life. There was no way Piper could get into the house to get more information about Jason. Fortunately, there were cameras! True, there was a healthy chance that they were a closed circuit and not even Mr D could access them in that case. _But_ , having closed circuit cameras meant there was a guy to watch them, and _that_ guy could be easily accessed and quite literally pried open for secrets.

If they weren't closed circuit, it meant Goldwing had hired people who kept watch from outside. Which still made it difficult to enter the house, but the footage was essentially Mr D's property if it had any brush with the Internet. In any case, nothing was too be gained from looking at the house, except for the schedules of the residents, and some deductions from their clothing and behavior. But that could be achieved by having a Chi Aid get a video recording over a week. Surely Mr D would allow that in a mission like this?

Before she could think more about it, somebody exited the house. Piper turned around, not trusting her flimsy disguise one bit. She opened Jason's privilege history as she walked briskly toward a less empty road. It was, like a browser history or a traceback, anti-chronological. The recent history showed the occasional Pacifier or drinks, which weren't weaknesses _at all_. Similar requests were logged for weeks, even before he was Alpha, which were consistent with the good guy guy image everyone had of him, but didn't explain Mr D's data.

And then she found it.

More than six months before he took over as Alpha, Jason Grace had ordered slaves and ordered them privately and silently. Scrolling down further, Piper saw he'd ordered slaves every week and requested a cleanup of his room one day before the new ones came in. The log simply said 'cleanup', no 'slave return', just 'cleanup'. The only interpretation of that choice of phrasing meant Jason had done things to them that had killed them. And he wasn't a Brain to conduct human experiments, so that meant he'd tortured them, and statistically, it was almost guaranteed to be sexual torture. Similar to Castellan.

But he'd stopped recently, to build the good guy image. She had a sudden realisation and it dawned upon her that the reason Annabeth Chase was weird in her posture and talks about her 'boyfriend' was because of BDSM. A part of Piper immediately wanted to go comfort her and help her escape him.

But the more substantial part thought that her body would have been ruined by now and he'd be starved for a fresher body by now and thought: _Now_ this _is the game I play._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact: jerk.com is a real site and that's really what people do on it. It was caught in an ugly case in 2015 with the FTC. Since I don't have a profile on it, I don't know the exact structure, so that may be wrong, but it doesn't really matter, does it?


	11. Green III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish to warn you about the future chapters: before reaching Percabeth, there will be a little Percy×Kira, but that is all just to further slow the slowburn, and to push him towards being a better human.

* * *

Percy opened his eyes to hazel ones.

"Did I seriously fall asleep in here?" he groaned.

"Hey, don't be so hard on yourself," Calypso said, "Teasing and flirting with girls that don't give a damn is exhausting. Besides—" she began to run her hand through his hair—"You're so much cuter when you sleep."

He muttered "Stalker alert," and turned his head in her lap. The earthy aroma surrounding her had always been his favorite smell, and her skin his favorite texture.

"You're staying longer this time?" he asked, burrowing closer to her and embracing her waist, "I love just existing near you."

"It all depends on how you behave, Perseus," she replied, and then asked, "Did you dream?"

"Yes, I did."

"Of what? Another trek through the mansion?"

"Oh, no." He turned again and looked into her eyes. "Of us alone at night in a grassy valley under a moonless sky. The setting for your poem, in fact."

"I resent it so much now," she admitted, "I mean, why the hell does _every_ line rhyme?! And what are all the rhymes identical rhymes?"

"Yes, that was a little overdoing it," Percy agreed, "If it were not for the music and the (at the least) controversial lyrics it could be read as a prayer or a hymn or something."

Calypso smiled. "It was so juvenile and arrogant."

"Well, so were we." He reached up to touch her face, and said, "The unending night we were promised has ended, Calypso, and still the gods are hiding, afraid of my retaliation. Did you know my dreams are of strangling them one by one when I'm not preoccupied with yours?"

His fingertips were exploring her lips when she said, "I'm thankful that they are hidden from you. You can't harm the gods, Perseus, no matter how spirited you are. Besides, as much as I love you, it is wrong to blame them."

"I've lost so much to this world," he argued, though it hurt so much that even she had turned against him, "I've lost everything to their hands and so my revenge is righteous."

"No, it isn't," Calypso spoke gently, "You cannot take revenge against the gods since they did not do anything wrong. You think your loss is unusual and cruel, but deep within yourself, you know this isn't a game we're meant to play," she reminded him, "Life is a game we're meant to lose."

"But what do I do when I've lost even my tears?" he asked, sitting up and across from her on the frankly huge bed.

"Live on still, because perhaps the worst is over..."

"And if it's not, it may be that life is only just seeking to make a legend of us," he completed, " _That's_ how I wrote it. A legend of _us_. Not me _alone_. Not me and not like this, when all I've achieved since you've gone is dragged my best friend and a dozen girls from Heaven all the way through Purgatory and down with me to Hell!"

There were tears in Calypso's eyes now. She tried to maintain a normal tone but failed. "I told you I'd stay longer if you behave well! If you think happier! Why don't you ever listen? Just for a while forget your self-hatred and you _know_ I'll stay! Why do you do this?"

"Because I hate you! I hate _you_ and I want her back and you're just a one dimensional projection that's all I've left of her and I really want to be with her but I _can't_ and you are the toy that I give myself THAT I HATE!"

Calypso with her beautiful teary eyes disappeared in the void of a blink, and Percy broke down fully.

* * *

Percy, having exhausted his sobs and turned normal again, was about to open a bottle of what he guessed was a vintage going by the label and subtle timeworn look when Kira Summer burst into his room.

"You really need to stop following me, Kira," he said, picking up a wineglass.

"I am _required_ to follow you and show you the rules and appropriate behavior, since I was the only one of your rank who came to recruit you," she retorted, crossing her arms.

"Oh, right! Care for a drink?" He offered sarcastically, knowing she couldn't possibly drink without removing her masks. He picked up the entire tray and placed it and himself on the bed. _Ooh... there's vodka too!_

Kira took a seat on the chair opposite him. "I've got mine in my room. These are generic ones, for you to try out."

"Yeah, about that... What the hell is this?" He gestured towards the collection of honestly _mathematically_ random objects. "I've been getting this at my door for a week now and I ignored them all so you can instruct me but today I couldn't wait anymore."

"Those are your privileges. The first time you receive them, they'll be an assortment of what other Members generally like. You can try them out and tell Lee—the guy in the room across from the muster hall—what you want to subscribe to. The amount and rarity you can access depends on your rank, but most ranks have access to alcohol and cigarettes at least."

Percy was going through the items in the container by then. "There is manga in here!" he exclaimed, "Who the hell is so far gone that their addiction is _manga_?! And how many people are addicted to it that it's in the 'generic' bunch?!"

"You really don't wanna know," said Kira earnestly, "Anyway, your training with me is almost complete: I've told you about the hierarchy and your duties as a Beta and a Brain. All that remains before you get fully settled in, is telling you about the rewards."

"Yay!" Percy clapped excitedly and childishly. "Is there candy?"

Kira rolled her eyes, saying, "You sure you haven't tried the drugs already?" He grinned, and she continued, "As an Lamda-up Member, you'll unlock all the possible privileges, once you contribute enough. And as an Pi-up Member, you can get Simon to get you the slaves you want—I'm guessing girls going by your interactions with me—for a day or any other time period. Though you should discuss further with Bill because I don't know all that much about it."

"Wow. This is one nice-paying job." He took a sip of the wine and decided it was amazing. "What about guns? Do I get grenades? Are there fire-blasters? Lightsabers?"

"Yes, yes, no, respectively. Talk to Nyssa or Jake about it. Also, it'll be for the best that you ask Zack for Fighters for all your bullet-y tasks till you learn how to not fire at yourself."

Percy was shocked. "I can ask for gunmen?"

"Yeah, though technically if you want to have someone outside the society killed, you need to, as you already know, request it in the Register. The gunmen from Zack will only be for your defense in difficult situations, which kind of contradicts his job, which is attack."

He composed himself. "Anything else, milady?"

"A few things left. One, unlike how it is on the outside, money doesn't hold any value for Members. If you wanna get some person to do something for you, you'll have to pay them in privileges, either by physically giving them your stuff or by telling Lee to redirect your supply to them.

"Two, check in with Andrew as soon as you can, because he'll be the one who will assess your potential and get you things you need to research and other stuff. He'll also be the one who evaluates your worth periodically, which will determine your freedoms and rewards as a Brain, so play nice. As for your worth as a Beta, Chiron or Lupa will evaluate that.

"Three, after you're done with improving Miranda's procedures, it's my turn. Call me after you're done. Clear?"

"Kyber crystals clear."

* * *

"Good morning, Lee," Percy said as he strode towards the desk Lee was behind.

"Yo," said Lee in greeting.

Percy leant against the table. "I'm here to declare my preferences."

"Are you the one who's been recruited like weeks ago and still hasn't decided?" The older boy asked.

"At your service." Percy stepped back to bow dramatically and went back to leaning on the desk. "Though it's only been _a_ week. I didn't know what the items were, and nobody was exactly forthcoming about their significance. Anyway, do you have like a checklist or something?" Lee opened his mouth and Percy cut him off with "'Cause I don't need that. I want anything that's illegal and/or socially frowned upon. Plus all kinds of alcohol that you've got, if that escapes that criterion. Add to that anything that can kill. Except by choking or OD: don't send me books and tell me I can try to ingest them and die. Anything _meant_ to damage the body.

Lee opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds before replying, "Large order, weird order."

"I have a feeling you'll have to get used to it, big guy." Percy shrugged, starting to walk backwards out of the room, having said his part.

"I'll need to have your worth confirmed by your supervisor before I can start your orders," Lee said.

"I'll send 'im to you." Percy waved and turned around.

 _Okay, Andrew, where are you? And more importantly, are you in a good mood?_ Kira's instruction to play nice with Andrew was an expectationally tall order, seeing how their first meeting hasn't ended well. Percy had seen the older boy ready to pounce on him when Percy had told Annabeth to cover herself at the Beta meeting, and also seen the subtle aggression under his casual facade in front of the others. He wished someone would've told him earlier that Andrew was capable of making his life hell.

After twenty minutes of roaming the halls, stumbling upon and chatting with Bill, the Armourer Jake, and Annabeth, Percy finally asked for directions and found the labs, which were like _Woah!_

Clearly, the Brains were the sole purpose for the Society's existence. Even the little of the four labs he could see through the doors was shockingly advanced, clean, and (most important of all) _civilised_. He could see analysis chambers, hazmat suits, a strangely huge centrifuge, an elaborate bird maze—!

"Finally come to visit us, Jackson?"

Percy blinked multiple times and focused on the boy standing in his face, trying to lower his adrenaline secretion. "Hey. Yeah, sorry about not reporting earlier, Kira was teaching me how to not get my head cut and how to be a Beta. But I'm here now, and ready to be briefed, colonel."

"Right." Andrew rolled his eyes, which looked weird on him. "Let's get inside."

"Which room?" Percy asked as Andrew turned around, "Don't you need to know what I can do best?"

"Besides talk my ears off, you mean? No, I don't. Because before I can gauge your level, there is a short backstory in order." He entered what seemed like the Physics lab, and Percy followed.

"First things first." Andrew said, taking a seat by the wall. Percy took a seat too. "Never interrupt my monologues unless you find that I'm completely and utterly misinformed or otherwise wrong, at least when you're in my territory. Not even just to say that you've understood. Now, for the backstory I'll assume that Kira's told you nothing about the Society's history.

"The Society was formed by Mr D to exploit the competent yet ignored and subjugated teenage population by providing them the respect and resources they desired. To keep these 'Brains' in firm control, he further recruited some soldiers, 'Fighters', with the incentive of primarily violence and drugs. The Aids and Agents were later additions to increase profits or safety directly or indirectly. In short, originally the Society harvested the teen brain of this city in exchange for essentially space for these shits to be themselves.

"But it spiralled soon. Since a few years before and during Luke's reign and even now I suspect, the architecture is little better than crippling feudalism. However immoral it may have been before, it's now reduced to a trap which ensnares unfortunate wayward teens and converts them either into wolves that hoard the power or sheep that simply receive a new source of harassment. My job is the original one: to get these geniuses to spit out discoveries, ideas, inventions, updates, whatever so Mr D may profit. And yes, that is about as objective as it gets."

Percy waited a healthy amount of time before asking, "And you're telling me this why? I think I have a pretty good estimate, but still."

"To fix it in your head that this is the most primal department of the Society, and so I am practically your God as a Brain, since Mr D will care about his profits, all of which stem from me.

"Now, this is how we work: you get an idea, pitch me the idea, I affirm it and get you ingredients, you create something worth big money, I find buyers for it through Mr D and you reap the rewards. Actually, you reap the rewards from the get go based on the predictions I make for your something, and any deviation is adjusted in your future rewards when recognised."

Again, Percy waited a beat to make sure the speech was over and then shrugged, "Cool. So what are these guys working on? What do you usually create?"

"Oh, our policy is Compartmentalisation Rocks, so you cannot know what anyone else is working on, except the bare minimum you can glance at sideways _while being completely absorbed in your own work_. Okay? Now, pitch me some ideas. Or, if you wish, ask me questions about what tech you can get here if that limits your possibilities."

"What is the most difficult, weird and/or expensive thing you've bought for these Brains? I think that'll make it clearer than playing Twenty Questions."

Andrew thought for a while, meaning either he was an idiot or he had a lot of things to compare, which was very helpful, since it told Percy that the Society had splurged on the Brains more than once, which told him that either it didn't take much to impress Andrew, or the other Brains were really really smart.

When he was done with the comparisons, Andrew said, "In terms of ergonomics, the most difficult was when I had to get a nuclear reactor chamber prepared for three weeks of experimentation. Weird was when we had to take over an an abandoned building and turn it into a rat maze for humans. As for expensive, once I had to procure the source codes and learning databases for IBM's Watson _and_ Cleverbot and shut up a lot of mouths on the way. Does that help you?"

"Yes, it does," Percy said, "But can you also tell me instances of what you _can't_ buy?"

This time he had the reply ready, as if he'd answered that question repeatedly. He counted it off on his fingers. "An experiment slot in the ISS or in the LHC. Trips to other nations, and nonnative and watchlist species. And supercomputer and satellite time. And more I haven't discovered yet because no one has requested them yet."

"Wow. You should be proud; this is more than enough for a single-city operation practically run completely by teenagers," said Percy truthfully.

Andrew's eyes glinted. "Money breeds money."

* * *

After spending a long time talking to, impressing, and winning over Andrew, Percy was on his way to test some more of the generic privileges that awaited him in his room, when his phone rang. It wasn't usual for any of the people he knew to call him at such a strange time. When he saw that the caller wasn't any of his contacts, his skepticism grew further. He picked it anyway, sure it couldn't hurt to hear a few lines of spam to clear any doubts.

"Sally Jackson?" A boy's voice said on the other side. Around his own age, but less hormonally mature. There were loud noises in the background which Percy couldn't attribute to any particular setting.

"That's my mom." Percy replied, semi-satisfied that the caller wasn't malicious.

"Thanks for the confirmation, Percy." Now there _was_ a malicious grin in the voice, and Percy scrambled to turn on Call Recorder as the boy continued, "I'll see you in a few."

The call ended at that. Percy saved the phone number and the recording, backed them up, copied them to the cloud. He started towards his room and began listening to the recording on repeat to identify the voice. It was familiar but Percy was having a tip-of-the-tongue moment and so left it for later identification because coming back to a topic after thinking about something else decreases the chance of another tip-of-the-tongue moment.

The noises. The noises were extremely random, too random to be natural. Caller information on the number was bullshit, and Percy couldn't figure out who could have gotten his information. It could be one of the Blackmailers For Hire that he'd initially assumed the Society to be, but nobody in their right minds would use that voice for the call. That voice, which was familiar enough that he was hitting close to the memory but unfamiliar enough that it was almost merged with other acoustic memories.

By the time Percy reached his room he'd listened to the sentence 'I'll see you in a few,' two dozen times in normal speed alone. He couldn't figure out anything since his brain was still not cooperating. And the noise thing wasn't getting out of his head either. He took out the other phone, the one that the Society had provided and called Kira.

"What's wrong, Jackson?" was her first question. Followed by: "Miranda stab you yet?"

Percy barely restrained himself from the _Aww, I didn't know you cared!_ gag, and replied, "We've already established that she'll never be able to stab me, Miss Summer. But there's more important stuff than this. Listen, there's this recording that I have. Can you tell me anything about where I can hear the kind of noise that's in the background? I expect your job makes you more knowledgeable about things like this."

"That," she said after he played her the recording, "is our in-house noise generator. Agents and Fighters use it when talking over unsafe channels to disguise their voices from any nonhuman recogniser, so no database can be used to track them. You can hear falling three tones at the three-quarters mark in each randomisation so that we can know it's from our own."

"Crazy coincidence that Greg also happened to be a Member, right?"

"Who's Greg and am I needed beyond that information I already provided?" Kira said.

 _Don't know._ "No one, no. Bye."

Percy had already started drafting a text in his mind before he hung up. As a part of reforms in Zack's workings, he'd also shifted all Fighter communications to a weaker channel which no one would suspect of being used by criminals, and it was on this channel that he posted an offer for all the Fighters to read:

' _Candy for anyone who saves the Beta._  
_Love, P._ '

 _That should work if he's Gamma or below. Or if he's not a Fighter himself. Though I'm curious to see what an observer will do if both of us facing off are Betas?_ And there was the fact that it wasn't guaranteed _all_ Fighters would have seen the offer before whoever Percy's enemy was decided to attack.

* * *

"God I really hate my brain sometimes," Percy muttered.

Leo Valdez wasn't a particularly intimidating figure, but he'd managed to hire more than enough Fighters to make up for it. It also confirmed that Leo was (1) not a Beta and (2) too deep in hatred to be swayed by words, which meant the only way Percy was going to live was if these Fighters read the message.

"You know, seeing you up close... I can't see it."

 _Full points for vagueness, Valdez._ Percy rolled his eyes internally. That was another point that left Percy on edge: what was he being condemned for? In all of the three minutes of their confrontation, Leo hadn't given a single clue as to the cause of his hatred. All he'd done was repeatedly try and fail to hide his raw anger behind the mask of a cold high-villain demeanor.

"Perhaps you're looking for the wrong thing? Or looking at the wrong person?"

Leo replied coolly, "Oh, no. I'm sure that the monster I'm searching for is you."

"If you don't mind me asking," Percy shifted his weight, feigning boredom, " _How_ are you sure?"

For the sixth time Leo's act failed. "BECAUSE SHE POINTED YOU OUT!" he shouted in Percy's face, utterly too close for comfort.

 _Oh, so it's a girl problem. Well that clarifies things... even though it does absolutely nothing to_ ease _things._ "But you couldn't have seen me before you ambushed me. You wouldn't be able to confirm my identity before tracking me." He already knew the answer, but he wanted to buy some time so he could know whether the guns were aimed at him or the other boy.

"The phone call, idiot! I said your mom's name to confirm your name and identity in one step. There _can't_ be any other Percy Jackson with a mother named Sally in this city. Even if I never knew your voice, I had access to your records."

"Yeah, we're in different circles, aren't we? Say, which one was this? The tall one? The brunette? The—"

Leo shoved him, and the circle of ambush expanded to keep them inside, and Percy glanced at the guns to see that only two out of nine had followed his movement, while the others had stayed leveled at their original employer. "HER NAME IS SARAH!"

 _God! My ears!_ It was right then that the shift occurred. "Awfully convenient for you that I got recruited. This'd be a lot messier otherwise."

"I would have found you and killed you myself even if Mr D himself threatened me with torture for it."

"Right. Of course you would have. So, Sarah. Sister? Girlfriend? Friend? Benefits? Actually, never mind." Leo started to speak, but Percy ignored him and spoke over him, pointing at the two Fighters who still aimed at him, "You two don't know yet. Kindly ask the others about the counteroffer I made."

Leo looked bewildered and speechless. One of them turned to his comrade confusedly, while the other stared at Percy unmoved. "I read it, but I don't believe that you're saying the truth."

"That is completely understandable," Percy conceded, "But follow this line of reasoning: Your communication system was changed very recently. A decision like that has to come from a Beta. But clearly it wasn't _your_ Beta because the change was recent and sudden, and even you know Zack loves bullets and isn't enough of a smarty-pants to make a decision like this. Who else would he have allowed to configure it except a high-ranking Brain? And would any Brain lower than a Beta rank dare to send that message with that access level, which is meant to be Zack's alone?"

"You—You're a Beta?" Leo stammered.

"What's stopping a lower Brain from using that access?" The unconvinced Fighter said, continuing their conversation. All the others had accepted by now.

"Because it would be suicidal: Zack is just smart enough to know that the only one who could've gotten access to his level was the Brain who modified it, and would kill the Brain if he were lying to get protection. And anyone who is suicidal won't waste that much energy trying to survive _this_ confrontation." Seeing his decision change, Percy nodded to himself and plucked a gun out of one of the other boys' hands. _Also, wow, how sexist of Leo to have chosen an all boys crew._

Facing Valdez, he said, "It's not your fault, Leo. You couldn't have won this anyway. You were stupid enough to not try to estimate how powerful I am before ambushing me, you were idiot enough to try to put up a lousy ruse even after you failed at it so many times. And, of course, you were unfortunate enough to be of a lower rank in this dog-eat-dog environment."

"W-What?!"

One of Fighters was showing Percy how to ready his gun to shoot. Percy cocked the one in his hand and continued, "When you so clearly threatened me at the end of the phone call, I sent out a message on the Fighters' comms channel offering my Beta level privileges to anyone who protected me. And who doesn't want that? Now, I must warn you this is my first time and hopefully yours too and so it may hurt."

"Please don't kill me!" Leo begged, "I'll do anything! I'll leave the Society, keep quiet, do whatever you say! I don't want to die!"

"One, that is the problem with this world, nobody wants to die and _so many_ want to kill. Two, I know I don't _have_ to kill you, but what the hell—I'd always wanted to kill someone and you're right here. Three, snivel less and Sarah's life won't be ruined any further." Percy turned to the Fighter. "So the heart or the brain? I want the less gory, but preferable more satisfying one."

"The brain is a crowd favorite," he said simply, speaking over Leo's pleading cries, "Inexplicably and persistently."

Percy tightened his grip and aimed, nodding at the helpful Fighter. "I know why it's a crowd favorite: because it's mind blowing."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some **information about the Society's architecture** for future reference: Members are divided into ranks named after the Greek alphabet arranged according to the English letters they usually stand for in science and mathematics. Except for the Alpha, Members are further divided into Brains (who invent/discover/improve stuff so that the Society and Mr D can profit), Fighters (who handle guns, knives, et cetera as soldiers), Agents (who are basically spies and saboteurs) and Aids (who do whatever the others call upon them for). The Society was formed for Mr D to exploit the unheard and oppressed teen population of the city/country/I-don't-know-how-far-I'll-take-this and harvest their ideas in exchange for essentially a space for them to be themselves. The other roles were add-ons to increase the profits and directly or indirectly fuel income.


	12. Gray III

* * *

Annabeth's nights were nightmares and a body that wept but did not heal.

The first night she'd woken in the middle of the night screaming, Annabeth was too scared to do anything about it but stay awake till daybreak. Then, as soon as her emotions were in control, she'd taken a page out of Jason's book and built herself a gag. To ensure that she did not take it off accidentally or in a fit, she made it so complicated that only a calm/non-crazy Annabeth could remove it. It worked perfectly. Though it was a painful reminder of what Jason did to her, it was better than Athena finding out about the cause of her nightmares and taking drastic measures. (Which, knowing Athena, would all be _against_ Annabeth.)

But it did nothing for the scars.

Sleep was supposed to be the time for her body to recover, which it got none of; Normal medicine couldn't hope to keep up with the damage she sustained almost everyday, and all the curing serums available at the Society worked only if there were leftover sleep-healing resources and secretions from previous naps. Annabeth's body had exactly zero of them.

Every time she passed into REM sleep she'd wake up within minutes, gasping, her throat burning with screams that she couldn't release and eyes burning with tears that wouldn't change anything anyway. Waking that way meant that it would take a long time to fall asleep again. Biologically speaking, most of her night was spent on controlling the fright responses from the fight-fright-flight sympathetic nervous system and so the duration of rest-heal-digest parasympathetic control was negligible.

When the problem hadn't gone away after three days, she had tried using intravenous tranquillisers, but they only helped her pass out, not heal. However, she was grateful for even the little that tranquillisers did, because sleep deprivation could have more noticeable consequences than simple body-damage which Annabeth had mastered in hiding: as long as she didn't see the scars and patches, and didn't move too quickly, Annabeth could convince even herself, however temporarily, that she was normal.

Hiding it from her housemates was no problem (probably because nobody cared), and she could choose the proper amount of cover and camouflage to hide her true form from her peers. Except, of course, Jason. He saw all, and he was growing more and more displeased with what he saw, as evident from the randomly destroyed pieces of furniture of his room. She was grateful in a way that she'd started blacking out by the end recently, because even though it meant her body was beginning to deteriorate more permanently, it kept him from increasing the intensity even further.

And being a Brain was helping. Though Annabeth hadn't paid any mind to the official duties of her post since Jason had ascended, taking full advantage of the immunity being the Alpha's girlfriend provided her in the eyes of the others, several days into the whole living-with-the-wounds thing, she'd asked her supervisor to get her a lot of First-Aid kits as production materials for an idea she'd had. Rei had looked skeptical at first, and Annabeth had been scared he'd ask for a formal submission, but being close to Jason had helped again. And that was how Annabeth had gotten her hands on enough medical supplies to last a war. Metaphorically, of course.

Even presently her torso was wrapped up tight, with a significant amount of over-the-counter soothing and healing creams trapped under the bandages. Her legs and arms were wrapped too, but she hadn't applied the creams to them because it would hardly make a difference with their frequency of getting clawed at and tied up. As she walked home from a boring day of academics, Annabeth could feel the cotton and gauze dry-rub against her skin, indicating that the ointments had either all sublimed or been absorbed by her injuries. She had to change her dressing fast.

By the time she reached her house, she was practically running (as much as she could in her hurt state). She dug for her keys and climbed the stairs. But the door was unlocked.

 _Mother is never home this early,_ Annabeth remarked as she pushed it opened fully and continued on her way to her room, _Did she misplace some documents?_ But that wasn't like Athena. _So what is it?_

Annabeth entered her room, closed the door, looked it. She dropped her bag and pulled off her shirt, then carefully took off the bandages. As predicted, the gauze was dry. She finished with them, and started collecting the materials for another dressing.

And found none.

Every single piece. All the reserves, in all the hiding places. Gone. No bandage, no ointment. Even her emergency splint was gone! All she had now was the gag she'd carried with herself in case she had to check up on her wounds in a washroom and they didn't cooperate.

Was this another Phi toying with her, or maybe even a higher ranking Member? Or had they discovered what Jason did to her and taken it as evidence? No one for whom this was just a prank would go to the pains of finding her address, but why would anyone for whom this _wasn't_ a prank be so obvious about their theft if all they needed was simple bloodied gauze as proof?

Annabeth's pulls was racing, and she frantically put on the previous dressing and shirt once again. _Jason will lose power if the others come to know,_ was the one thought that repeated in all of her theorising and damage control ideas, terrifying her with its consequences.

Just as she'd opened her bedroom door, ready to fly down the stairs, leave the house and get to the Compound to check how much damage had already been done, she found her stuff.

It was right in front of her, in Athena's hands.

Annabeth didn't have time to sigh in relief that it wasn't a Member who'd discovered it, because Mother was _furious_. Her eyes were filled with that fire she always reserved in waiting for Annabeth to fail, and her muscles were tense and her face carefully blank, as if Annabeth couldn't read her emotions if she did that. She took a single single intimidating step inside, and Annabeth retreated instinctively. Athena's eyes glinted, and she pushed her back a few more steps, then slammed the door shut.

When she finally spoke, Annabeth almost couldn't recognise her voice—it was so twisted with rage. "Got handed a schedule of a sudden client meeting in Australia today, rushed home to start preparing for the flight, searched for baggage enough for a six-day trip, found my daughter had a hidden stash of medical supplies. _Not_ in a good mood today, Annabeth. Why do you have them?"

Annabeth was frozen in place by her mother's voice. She couldn't speak. She could barely think.

"I've told you I'm in a bad mood already, so for your own sake, don't make me repeat myself."

 _I can't tell her about the Society or Jason. I can't tell her I got hurt or she'll kill me. What then? Why the bandages? Why the first aid? What reason to give?!_ Her mind wasn't working, scared by the way Athena's fists were clenching. _Mother won't hit me,_ she tried to calm herself, _She is a lawyer, she knows corporal punishment is criminal._ She closed her eyes, trying to put away the images of Athena chocking her and Jason raping her. Her brain started functioning. She remembered something she'd planned so many years ago: _When adults arrive near a transgression that they will kill you for, make up a false transgression that they think is the worst possible but is actually nowhere near the true one in its acuity and draws them away from the true one._

Opening her eyes, she whispered, "I was doing volunteer work behind your back. Not as part of an organisation, just with Monica and Sam." She knew what Mother would make of it: that Annabeth's grades had declined (even only from perfect ones to amazing ones) because she'd devoted her time to helping the less fortunate. And that was one of the of the worst crimes she could imagine Annabeth ever commit, single-minded about perfection and academics as she was.

"When did this start?" Athena hissed.

 _...draws them away from the true one._ Annabeth braced herself for a storm of derogatory curses and psychological torture, and said, "Five months, now. This will be our sixth month."

For an eerie moment, the world was frozen and didn't exist except for the two of them. Annabeth could see her raging mother transform into the woman from her nightmares. The one who had disowned her and left her for the monsters. _But it was only a nightmare; She wouldn't—_

Though Annabeth had been through far worse, the slap was as painful as anything she'd known. Her head snapped to the left, and the excess force fell her body. She watched the room fall up and right. The ground caught her, but not gently. Her injuries started screaming again.

When her fall broke, she made no move to get up. She _couldn't_ make a move to get up. The shock was running through her system, paralysing her and ingraining every sensation irreversibly into her mind. She could hear Athena speak the derogatory curses she'd been prepared for, but couldn't understand any of it. Athena saw her unresponsiveness, cursed her one last time, and left.

The slam of the door broke the shock state, and the tears began.

 _WHY?! Why me? What did I do? Why is she like this? Why is my life like this?!_ Annabeth curled up into the foetal position on the floor, for once wanting someone to hold her, some indication of care, security. _I never asked for life to be all gold. I know that's unrealistic. But why can't life at least be not bad? Don't I deserve that much at least?_

She curled up tighter, willing the bruises to press against each other and take her someplace more painful and yet less corrosive.

* * *

After her tears had dried and her emotions in control again, Annabeth decided it was time to go to work.

The Labyrinth entrance nearest to her home was inside the cellar of a rundown diner. The employees of the diner were friendly enough, but the pungent smell that they used to ward off any customers during the period when Members of the nearby areas frequented the entrance most, made the nineteen strides that it took to get into the Labyrinth an act of bravery.

Still, it was due to the very intensity of the gross odor that made the diner the safest entrance in a five-mile radius. A young man tapped Annabeth's shoulder and asked her the time, and saying _Peleus_ allowed her passage into the Labyrinth.

Before the biometrics had even finished with fetching her identity, Annabeth could hear some Aid's bike. She hastily pried open the door, afraid that the Aid would pass the entrance without noticing her, and strode to the middle of the wide sewer.

In a moment there were lights right in her eye and the bike stopped. It was Dakota behind the wheel. He grinned at her and handed her a helmet. "Good morning/afternoon/evening!"

"Good afternoon, Dakota." Annabeth smiled back, accepting it and taking a seat. "I didn't know you'd take to it so easily and soon."

The boy shrugged, starting to accelerate. "Can't ignore good advise."

"And the others? Have they also started using safety equipment?" asked Annabeth. Dakota nodded, turning around to start towards the Compound. Annabeth couldn't help but ask: "Why? You are yourself an Epsilon, Dakota. Why the hell would you listen to a Phi? Why would any others?"

"It's only saving our lives, Annabeth. And not all of us have death-wishes," he said, "It was just an obvious point that needed to be _said_ for us to realise. And I thank you again for that."

"I can't believe that that's the only reason," Annabeth said skeptically. She noticed he wasn't anywhere near the limit of his speedometer.

"Well, besides your little impromptu speech telling us to wear helmets while biking around for safety, the other guy—the Beta with you—also convinced us in a more convincing way..." He slowed to a stop at the Compound entrance.

Annabeth got off the bike, returned her helmet and asked, "What did Percy say?"

"Well, he said, 'Why die of mundane injury when there were much more interesting things to die of? Die unusual, exciting!' And that moved many of us," Dakota said sheepishly.

"That idiot. I'll go talk to him right now."

Before she could even turn he caught her arm, his hand barely missing a bruise from yesterday. "Listen, I don't want to bother you, really I don't, but can you solve a few more disputes today? They're becoming uncontrollable except by you or guns these days. And a few newbies are _asking_ for you, too."

Annabeth couldn't stop the smile. "Sure, Dakota." She stepped back and waved him off.

As she climbed the steps to Argus' room, she fussed a little with her sleeves and collar to make sure the wounds were hidden. _What does it say about my life that I'm spending so much time hiding my skin and it's not for modesty?_ She thought, but then stole away from it, because it would be a dark introspection, and she wasn't in the place for it.

"Cue the fanfare and the fireworks."

Annabeth was jerked out of her thoughts by the low, bored, feminine voice. She had reached the entrance level and when she took her eyes from the floor, Annabeth saw the Beta Kira Summer standing near Argus' desk, staring at her from behind the black partial masks. Argus was not present and the entrance was sealed as it was whenever he wasn't there, so the two of them were alone.

"What do you mean, Kira?" Annabeth asked, frozen in place.

"I would appreciate it if you do not address me by my first name, _Phi_. And by appreciate, I mean I'd refrain from killing you."

Annabeth's adrenaline levels were spiking. She put on a hopefully un-alarmed face and repeated: "What did you mean, Summer?"

The other girl pushed away from the desk, and stalked toward Annabeth deliberately. "I've noticed you've risen in most eyes from a body for Jason Grace to some princess that doubles as a messiah. And I don't believe it. I think you're narcissistic and egocentric. Could it be perhaps that my view is the more objective one?"

"The Wisdom Of The Crowd is provably true, I believe, and so—"

Kira cut her off, suddenly nose to nose with Annabeth. "Oh, I know Wisdom Of The Crowd is _probabilistically_ true. But we're not talking about guessing a number here, Chase. This is psychoanalysis. I don't see a sheep talking charge and herding other sheep." Her voice was still low in volume and pitch. They were impossibly close, and Annabeth could see the lines where the masks ended and overlapped, hidden from afar by their uniformly dark color. "Empowerment I can believe in, but this is bullshit. I see the idiomatic carnivore posing as an innocent, meek herbivore. Now, the message here is this: if you gain too much power too fast and abuse it, _Annie_ , I _will_ cut you to pieces, because imposters I hate on principle."

Annabeth had tried to back away during the second sentence, but she'd sensed the stairs behind her and stopped, not wanting to appear shorter than she already was. She looked into the dark eyes. She did not have a response to Kira's threat, so she locked onto something else. "Why— Why can _you_ call me by my nickname when I can't even call you by your first name?"

In a flash Kira had whipped out her gun and there was metal against Annabeth's temple. "Because I hold the gun, don't I?" Annabeth's glance flicked to the hand holding the gun, and Kira continued: "You can try, but it's not like the movies. You can't snatch the gun from me. And I can bet you don't have perfect aim to hit me while I flex my acrobatics."

"Not to sound like a jerk," Argus' deep voice rumbled from the bottom of the staircase, "But I'd love it if you lowered the gun and went all claws and hair instead."

The gun came down and Kira stepped away. Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry I won't help satisfy your daydreams, Argus. Now, quick. You've been gone too long and Lupa will kill me _and_ you if you delay me any further. And I think blondie also has people waiting for their queen consort."

* * *

There were, in fact, no 'people' waiting for her. There was just the one, propped against Annabeth's room's entrance. And as soon as she saw Annabeth, she waved her closer quicker.

"The disputers and distressed have come and gone," Katherine Hill said, as they entered and took seats on the bed that hadn't been used since Jason had asked Annabeth out, "I've already made a list but it's getting too chaotic to control. You need to let Jason or the Betas know that they've got these problems: you can't handle everything on your own!"

"I've thought about it already, Cat," Annabeth said calmly, "and I've realised that I can't tell them. The Betas have extremely specific duties and are feared and distant except for Percy and he's only so because of mostly me, and Jason has bigger things to worry about. I can't handle it all, but I can try at least. We've got all of eternity, haven't we?"

"I guess," she said looking unconvinced. But then her expression turned curious and she said, "Also, about Jason—a quick change of topic here—you've told me before too that he's busy, but with what? I don't understand what his job _is_ if not this. Most functions are delegated to lower ranks, so what is he so busy doing?"

"Honestly, I don't know. But I believe he's got powers that transcend the Betas', because otherwise the rank wouldn't be called 'Alpha'. As evidence, he's been exhausted and weary lately, and when I asked him he said he doesn't want to burden me with it." She answered, though Jason's actual response had been more of a snapped command to shut up followed by unspeakable things.

"I only asked because I was thinking last night that unlike Luke, Jason hasn't gotten attacks to plan. And then I started thinking what did Luke do when he wasn't planning attacks or destroying the slaves? And what does Jason do?"

"I think he plays a role in a lot of areas we don't even think exist... Yes, I remember an example now: Luke told me once that he picks the talented Zetas and Omegas the Betas had missed, and then boosted their harvests by giving them more incentive specially and giving them his personal jobs. And I also think—though I'm completely hypothesising here—he's the representative Mr D sends to major drugs and weapons deals. It's only logical."

Katherine was nodding at her, gesturing to go on, but then Annabeth re-remembered Jason's reaction to her asking about his job and cut herself off. "But, I've told you Jason doesn't like me thinking about his work and the official rank-dynamic between us. If someone tells him I'm theorising about his Aplha-ing, he'll think I'm distancing us and idolising him and drop the job and then we'll all go crashing down under some other Alpha. So do me a favor and change the topic again—have you got any other late night questions for me?"

"I do, actually," the brunette said, "The question is 'What privileges did you choose?' You don't seem like an addict, and I don't think you are a geek, so no pop culture items. If you wanted books or journals to satisfy your nerdiness, you can probably get it at your labs. So what are your rewards for the amazing work as a Brain?"

"Fantastic question, and brilliant detective skills," she said, "I do some a little architecture on the side, as a hobby. I've been doing it for a while. Periodically, after I've accumulated enough privileges, I use them all at once to get a design built."

" _WHAT?_ " Cat exclaimed, "You've designed _actual buildings_?"

"Yes, I have. There are six to seven buildings credited to some Henry Chase, who exists only on paper and demands no payment but the guarantee of him being credited."

"I can believe it! You've shaped the skyline of this city! Real buildings with people in them! You, a sixteen-year-old—you're sixteen, right?"

"Yes, I am." Annabeth laughed. "But really, Cat, this shouldn't be all that shocking. Many Members have had people killed, framed, mutilated. Some have had treatises published under pseudonyms, softwares copyrighted through shady agencies. This is far less."

"No, it's not," she protested, "It's different! You can probably claim them when you get old enough. And them accepting you is proof that you're a genius beyond your age. It's permanent! I think I know you enough to say that you have some congratulatory letters or acceptance letters. This is awesome."

"That was my motivation," Annabeth said, caught off guard by Katherine's praise.

"That it would be awesome?" Cat was confused.

"No," Annabeth clarified, "That it would be permanent. I want to leave my mark. Which is twisted and wrong when you think about it, because, to quote John Green, 'the marks humans leave are too often scars', and I hate scars."

"But it's also evolution. It may seem like it isn't, but to better the future is why we're here. To quote Samuel Butler, 'A hen is only an egg's way of making another egg.' So, wanting to leave something for the future is even more normal than a human tendency—it's a basic living-creature tendency!"

"I don't know if you know this or not, Cat, but only by stretching it out to its maximum can your quote be vaguely attached to your meaning."

"Full marks for seeing the important things, Annabeth!" Katherine threw up her hands.

Annabeth put up a hand to calm her, her own troubles temporarily forgotten in the other girl's cute exasperation. "Relax, I get your message. I'll try to be less self-critical from on, okay?"

"You better," she muttered, "You've saved my life, the least I could do is boost your self-esteem."

Annabeth pulled her close with one arm and embraced her incompletely in their seated positions. "Oh my dear feline, getting a friend is all I wanted. And you're doing a fantastic job. Also, I did _not_ save your life."

"For all practical purposes from my viewpoint, you did."

"But that doesn't mean you have to be any medieval-warrior-culture life-debt crap bound to me. It was a decision of my subconscious, not an investment. Though," she looked up and down Katherine's body, pretending to be perverse, "I do think you'd make a fine 'wench'."

"You wanna try?" she said flirtatiously.

"Nope, thank you." _Even if I wanted it, you can't see my flesh because I can't drag you in with me.  
_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note 4** : Anytime you see a word being overused, or misused, know that it's most probably intentional. Similarly, even if it looks like I'm wasting too much time on some 'irrelevant' stuff (like the dialogue in this chapter), remember that that too is intentional. Stick around and you'll see why.
> 
>  **Note 5** : Chronologically, consecutive chapters of this story will be spaced one or two days apart. If I ever feel the need to emphasize on the passage of time since the last appearance of a character (either as a PoV character or even in another chapter) I'll include a little montage in the beginning like in this one.
> 
> As of posting this, corporal punishment of minors in the home is _not_ illegal in the United States, the country of canon births of our characters. Why that is, I can not understand. (Sweden banned it in 1957!) But, this is a better and worse world I've created, and so corporal punishment of children by their parents _is_ illegal in this AU.


	13. Pink III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There's self-harm in here, but it's made out to be comic and not trigger-y.

* * *

Piper was in a fairly good mood. The weather was nice, _The Reichenbach Fall_ was streaming without buffering, she was ahead on her academics _and_ Mr D's assignment. Her week was probably peaking out, but it was peaking out so high that the thought of future boredom and/or hardships didn't faze her.

The episode was at John's teary goodbye when Piper heard her mother's surprised "Oh. You're here."

She looked up, video pausing automatically, and saw Aphrodite and Drew standing in the doorway, about to enter the room. Mother's eyes were on her and not, and Piper was furious at the two idiots for interrupting the brilliance of Stephen Thompson.

Aphrodite, apparently not getting the 'Piss off!' directive being violently emitted by Piper's eyes, gracefully breezed into the room. Piper gave up, embracing the steep descent into hell that was about to come. Drew followed Mother in, side-eyeing Piper haughtily. Piper rolled her eyes. _Whatever gets you high, Drew._

She went back to her show, increasing the volume to drown the others' nonsense chatting. John concluded his monologue, touched Sherlock's gravestone, and told him that he owed him so much. The camera panned across the graveyard to Sherlock smiling and tearing up at the treeline. Piper barely stopped herself from giggling at the thought of _The Empty Hearse_.

The player started loading the next episode, and Piper heard Drew say "What time should we put on the invites?"

They were probably talking about Mom's birthday celebration in a few days, and as soon as she recognised the topic, Piper lent it some focus, because for the first time, information in their chats was worth more than nothing to her. Aphrodite gave it some thought, and Piper took the moment to choose her next episode. Since she had already watched it yesterday, she chose to skip _TEH_. She was selecting _The Sign of Three_ when disaster struck.

She was supposed to hear it, she knew, and it was supposed to hurt. She also knew that she was supposed to be above it all and not affected and very joyful that day, but Piper's mother was an expert at this stuff by now, and that was why she ruined it all so easily by saying, "We'll have to find out when she's not around."

_A girl can only take so much._

"That's it," Piper declared, and stood up. The two other females looked at her, confusion stark on their faces, quite expectedly not understanding what provoked that reaction. They were expecting either an indifferent shrug, or that perhaps she wouldn't get it at all. And they were valid guesses, since Piper often pretended that she didn't understand the insults or that even if she did, their insults didn't faze her. But that was usually, and Piper had decided a moment ago that the day wasn't going to be usual.

She ignored their inquisitive glances and walked out and straight to the guards' room. Her plan had been perfected a while ago, and she'd been waiting for the perfect dramatic moment on Mom's birthday, so the logistics of the plan were already prepared well, and the execution would be flawless.

Of course, the timing wasn't perfect or dramatic, but Piper was off then, and she'd not stop for anything less than a chance to cause apocalypse.

She told the head security guard about a threatening call they'd received, and begged him to keep them safe. Predictably, Howard nodded like a dutiful good man and commanded the two other guards present to pass the message and secure every inch of the property's edges and entrances. As they ran off, he started calling emergency services but Piper stopped him before he could finish dialing, reminding him that the aggressor had warned of worse and more immediate consequences if any cops were called.

Another loyal nod and then he was ushering her back into the living space. As soon as she was in, he barricaded it with a low thud, and Piper heard his heavy footsteps back off. It was the worst logical misstep, but practically unavoidable. Howard had registered the words 'when I come to kill you' in Piper's made-up attacker's threat, and acted on it without thinking. Even _if_ the threat had been real at all, what guaranteed that the attacker was telling the truth about not being there already? There was a strong chance that the aggressor, just like Piper in real life, just wanted the victims alone and confined and so had diverted their attention to the gates.

Alas, when confronted by a lot of doubtable information the brain tended to bias towards assuming all of them were true for the moment and act on them, and later assess their truth value. And that was what Piper's plot revolved around: It's really tough to kill women under so much security without taking such measures.

She took her time, though in the back of her head she knew she had twenty minutes at most before either a guard came inside to protect them from closer enemies, or Drew or Mom found out about the guards on red alert and falsified her story. She went to her room and dug out her gun and assembled it.

Aphrodite and Drew hadn't moved from their positions when she sauntered back in. Like robots in sync, they glanced up at her entrance and turned back to their activities, but then her posture and form registered and they looked up again. With trepidation then.

She stopped in the middle of the room. "First things first," she said, breaking the silence, "One scream and lead in your head. Understand?"

Aphrodite was appropriately confused and laughed nervously. "Piper, what are you saying? What is all this?"

She brandished her weapon. They reacted as was expected of two regular citizens who had never been in the presence of a gun except in the hand of a peace keeper. That meant Piper could dispel from her mind the improbable but not impossible scenario that one or both of them had the skills to escape.

"Lead in your head. Understand?" She thumbed off the safety for dramatic effect, and the two nodded, pale.

"Let's start with Drew." Piper turned to the black-haired girl and took aim. "I never liked your name: it's very off-putting because it's also a verb. Beyond that, however, I had no bone to pick with you. You were shallow, but then most are. You could have stayed away from me and we'd coexist peacefully, but you clawed at me instead. It's not as hurting as you'd think, actually. Because I'm not just a thin layer of paper like you means you can't destroy me with your weak claws and jabs. No one can."

"Piper—!"

She cut Drew off with a bullet. Her gun was silent enough that the sound of the girl falling to the ground was louder than the shot.

"Now, you." She faced Aphrodite, who, Piper guessed, was frantically searching for either her phone or the comms to security, which was annoying as hell.

In a second Piper was standing in front of her mother. Piper hit her across the face with the gun, and punched her in the gut before she could make a sound. The scream-air left her body and she was left unable to make a sound. "I have a whole monologue planned out for you, mother dearest," Piper said as Aphrodite fell to the ground and began trying to get air in and crying, "So you'd better cooperate.

"You know, if you had just been patient and not insulted me today, I had an almost painless death planned for you on your birthday. But you, being the bitch you are, didn't want to wait just five days to die." Aphrodite's wheezing decreased a little and Piper kicked her ribs to bring her back to breathlessness before continuing. "Drew's hatred, though infuriating, was at least justifiable. But yours? Your ultra-condescending attitude and statements that when played on any lesser person would _destroy_ their self-esteem? THAT WAS TOO MUCH! You were supposed to _mother_ me, not try to drive me to suicide!"

Piper composed herself. "But don't think I'm affected by any of it. Nope, this isn't your punishment for being cruel to me. This is your punishment for being cruel to your daughter. I'm siding with whatever girl _could_ have gotten you as a mother and giving her justice. Granted—" another kick to the chest—"considering your barbs, it isn't really doing her justice unless I torture you to death, but I can't waste that much of my time on you, can I?

"I remember how you liked to insinuate that I was a monster, Mom. Even when I was twelve, you despised me. I wasn't bad by any standards but your own, and I still am not. You don't see it, and maybe even the world doesn't, but I. Am. Better."

Piper dropped to one knee to be on face level with her mother, and held her face up to look into her eyes. The other hand levelled her weapon at Aphrodite's temple. "You liked to call me a monster. Well, see how much I love you—I became one just so you wouldn't be lying anymore."

Aphrodite began to beg for mercy, having finally gotten enough air in her lungs to do so. Piper shook her head. "How can you think that I'll spare you when I've killed Drew, whose crime is lesser than yours? Nope, you don't get mercy. To quote Arthur Fleck at his debut appearance on _Live! with Murray Franklin_ , 'You get what you _beeping_ deserve!'"

 _Huh, brain fluid and blood dripping along the barrel,_ she observed, _Thank God for forensic gloves, otherwise I'd be cleaning this shit off my hand for so long._ She'd also get arrested and executed for matricide and homicide because of the fingerprints on the handle, but that wasn't the point.

All that remained in the plan she'd outlined so long ago was get herself injured, in order to escape detective interest (at least until she could ask Mr D to get someone else framed instead). She stepped away from the corpse, chose a position near the couch, and knelt, as if cowering from the imaginary assassin.

Piper took aim at her forearm, but even with all her confident murders and seductions, her body wasn't ready to harm itself. "If you're watching, God," she joked, trying to create some bravado, "consider this a trigger warning: discretion is advised. Do you understand, God? Don't watch if you get triggered by self-harm."

 _Well, that didn't help. What else can I use?_ she wondered. Then she glanced at her hand, and noticed her watch. The timer was one minute and twenty-five seconds to go. _Good. That'll surely help. Come on, body! If you don't do this within one minute twenty-five seconds, one of the guards will surely walk in, and you'll get seen with the gun and then executed! Honest! And you know you don't care about yourself, not really. You_ hate _yourself, don't you? This should be a neutral action, at best, body. A small price for justice!_

Piper's head and body apparently decided that her reasoning was solid.

The pain was near unbearable. She could barely moved the injured arm, and her thoughts were struggling along with her body. Everything was malfunctioning except for the pain receptors. _Those_ were working fantastically. She threw the gun, and it stopped two human lengths away. Removing the gloves was a lot more difficult. The hurt pulsed so intensely by the time she finished taking them off, she almost forgot to stuff the gloves into her clothes to hide them.

Predictably, the screams were perfect.

Piper knew she was definitely overreacting to the injury, but to the others for whom she wasn't herself but Piper McLean the weirdo-but-still-technically-a-princess, the crying was absolutely normal, as evident by Howard's facial expressions. He burst through the door and remained true to stereotype by remaining furious, panicked, concerned, awkward all at the same time till Piper was treated for her injury and supposed shock. Piper managed to get some time alone in her room to dissolve the gloves to nothingness and clear her head with a Pacifier IV.

Her father was home by the time she came out and he only had eyes for her and he called her 'Pipes' for the first time in eight years and _Wow, I should do this more often!_

When Piper recovered from the high of seeing her father cherish her again after so long, she put her mask back on, and asked permission to go out. He allowed her post some hesitation, and instructed two bodyguards to remain within an arm-length of her. Which was caring and didn't hinder Piper's objective, so she complied easily.

As soon as she and the two guards were outside eyeshot of the house-grounds, Piper took out her phone and opened her emergency _Future Blog_ draft and typed her story out for Mr D's assistants to read:

' _Today a murderer snuck into my house, and killed my mother and her assistant and shot me in the arm before escaping. He hid in our mansion and called us before, threatening 'to come kill' us, and so our security guards locked us in safely. But the assassin was inside, with us._

' _As soon as we were herded in, the murderer came out of hiding and killed my mom and Drew. I managed to jump away and his bullet missed me and hit my forearm and I screamed and he ran away. I'm fine now. The police haven't taken me on record, and I'm currently in the city, with two armed men protecting me, trying to clear my head._ '

Hopefully upon reading that, Mr D would start the fabrication of an assassin, and send someone to fill her in on what they planned to do so their stories would match.

Saving the draft, she waited for an hour, and spent her time roaming the streets, some shops, getting snacks. Even though she was practically jumping and dancing inside, feeling librated, it was really boring overall, and Piper was just about to send another, more intense message when her nonexistent friend 'Emily' texted her, saying, ' _So sorry to hear about what happened! You want to talk about it? I know it'll be little comfort, but being with people who care can help more than you'd think._ '

Piper was quick to reply: ' _Thank you. I really need a friend right now._ '

' _Okay. I'll be waiting at Caffeine Wars._ '

And so Piper and her entourage got into a cab and drove to meet Emily.

 _Caffeine Wars_ was stuffed, which was a great potential excuse to give for not recognising 'Emily' from afar. The guards procured interior seats, and insisted on sitting right next to her. Piper managed to convince them to leave one nearby seat open for Emily.

Emily turned out to be a tall platinum-blonde about three years older than her. She was polite to the guards, hugged Piper as soon as she saw her, and did a thousand other things to earn brownie points, probably more then she needed. She was well-trained: Her actions were subtle and her acting skills were great. It was only when she suggested drinks that Piper remembered what she was there for.

To the great chagrin of Piper's bodyguards, Emily left to bring the order herself, and alone. It was an interesting development, and Piper was curious how she thought she could sneak something into the coffee given that the bodyguards (who thought Piper in the crosshairs of a professional assassin) would surely taste the coffee and test the cup thoroughly.

There was nothing in the cup or the drink. Either the men needed to be fired because they sucked at their duty, or Emily hadn't snuck anything into it. _Then why the insistence?_ remained unanswered. The meeting progressed normally: consolation, some tears by both parties, anecdotes and the like.

Just after Piper's cup was emptied, Emily encouraged her to pay special attention to cleaning the coffee residue from her lips, because 'a recent study' had shown that it could hasten wrinkling.

 _God, they've really fleshed this character out!_ Piper thought as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, _How much afraid_ are _they of being discovered?_

Five minutes later, when Piper was in the middle of a story about how Drew helped her become better in life and shit like that, the nausea hit. It took her less than a second to understand Emily's plan: drops of an emetic drug on the napkin, going to the washroom to throw up and discuss out of earshot. _Brilliant! Let's just hope she's got an antidote, too._

The emetic was potent, and soon Piper was noticeable ill. Emily asked her if she was all right.

"I'm feeling queasy... Maybe I should go to the toilet just in case."

"You can't be alone," Emily said, shaking her head, "Even in the washroom. Who knows, maybe the murderer has a female accomplice! I'll go with you. And—" she turned to the two men—"You should give me your number so I can call you if something goes wrong."

The senior one looked uneasy at letting Piper out of eyeshot, because it was expressly against their employer's instructions. But it wasn't a choice—Piper was feeling weirder by the second, and if she had to guess, she was looking worse by the second, too. He gave her his contact, and they followed Emily and Piper to near the door. First Emily went inside and threw out the three females inside, and then the guards took their positions as human barricades. Emily led Piper in.

As soon as they were inside, Emily grasped Piper's wrist and dragged her into a stall. Locking the door, she dug out a pill, which was hopefully the cure. Piper picked it from her palm eagerly, but the other girl stopped her from taking it right then.

"It's not the antidote. Your nausea will recede in a minute or two. The pill makes you puke as if you're really ill. You'll take it after we're done; we can't take chances."

Piper put the pill away begrudgingly. "I haven't seen this much distress about killing a non-Member before. The ones in the Register are carried out pretty nonchalantly. What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"That's because the murder requests in the Register are thought about before executing, and carried out only after a scapegoat is ready and the motive is created. Your late demands and your father's popularity make this extremely fragile, dangerous. Mr D says to remember this well," Emily intoned grimly, and then dug out something that looked like an old-fashioned analog recorder and said, "Now, tell me the story as it is in your head. Make sure it's at least consistent with what little you've told everyone. Speak clearly."

"Why the recorder?"

"For future reference. I've got one of Mr D's criminal minds listening in on what we speak, and he'll tell me what you have to do. We may need the audio later, if this complicates further."

Piper was feeling like a child at this, though her own criminal acts and plans were only slightly less criminal than this one. "Why can't he tell me directly?'

"He speaks into an earpiece in my ear. We can't get your DNA on it just in case we get caught. Now, speak."

"First things first— my original plan was to do something almost exactly like this on Mom's birthday and call you after to clean it up. So don't scold me if some part of it is reckless: The original plan was more thought-out than this one, but there was an emergency that caused me to prepone it and carry it out under a little emotional strain.

"Now, what happened today is this: We were sitting in the living room. I was watching _Sherlock_ on my phone, and Mom and Drew were going through magazines and catalogs to decide what to do for Mom's birthday next week. Suddenly, mom's phone rang, and she picked it up. I could see by her face that something was wrong.

"By the time she hung up, she was trembling. She told us that some guy has threatened to come kill us unless we sent him our bank codes. He said not to call the police or there would be more serious and more immediate consequences. You catching that correctly?"

Emily relayed the question to the criminal expert, and the answer was positive. They replayed the recording and it was fine. Piper continued: "Drew started panicking and Mom was consoling her, so she sent me to tell our head of security Howard about it. He took immediate action by sending his men to guard the entrances to the property and locking us up. But the attacker was already inside, with us.

"Within a minute of me coming back to the living room, the assassin emerged. He started a evil monologue about equality and bringing down the rich, and Drew tried to escape and he killed her. He had his gun aimed at us next, so we couldn't scream. He hit Mom repeatedly and, after a close up moment, killed her. I tried to run away to save myself. He was still talking to Mom's corpse, but he saw me anyway and fired. He hit me in the arm instead of my heart and I screamed for the guards while he was reloading. He got scared and escaped through a backdoor, probably right when the guards all rushed inside. Howard knows the rest."

Emily nodded, "Done. Now give me a minute. You can take the pill in the meantime: it won't be long, and we need to make it believable. It isn't unlike normal puking."

It wasn't unlike normal puking, and that meant it was horrible. Thankfully, Emily sympathised a little with Piper and held her hair back with one hand while talking to the guy on the earpiece, and typing with the other. Which was a level of multitasking Piper decided she _had_ to reach someday.

Once Piper was done, Emily started talking about the plan. "Since we don't have the time to figure out what parts of your narrative are necessary, we've decided to take all of them as necessary. Now, when you're asked to describe the murderer, say that he was a ghostly-pale redhead with brown-gray eyes and his face was masked black. He was very tall and thin, and spoke in a fake high pitch that was meant to conceal his voice. He wore gloves, obviously and a plain gray T-shirt and classic blue jeans. That'll be enough for the police."

"That's all?"

"Yes. Thanks to your narrative, many of our hassles are reduced. And all that's remaining is work for me, not you. We'll go outside now. I trust you can get them to rush you home. I have other things to do and I can't waste time in proper goodbyes."

Piper could get them to rush her home, and she did get them to rush her home, just to get on Emily's good side, seeing as how she was going to be the one to mostly handle Piper's case. It had been amazing to feel at risk again after so long, even though it was short-lived. Her only worry post the bathroom scene was Mr D's ominous 'remember this' message.

 _What can it mean?_ She was objectively a valuable asset, and though her request seemed huge at first, 'Emily' had clearly declared that it boiled down quite a bit. _He'll probably just increase my workload. Or tell me to rush with Jason Grace. Which... I_ can _rush with it. That's it: I'll speed up even further with Jason and then he'll surely be less angry._

 _I'll start with my plan today itself. I'll just have to go over the strategy one last time._ Seducing Jason was another plot Piper had finalised the previous week. Implementing it was far easier, because she'd had more experience with that than murder. (Since all her omega missions were supposed to look accidental, she'd only used guns on people exactly once excluding the day's count.)

Piper locked her room's door and dug out the reference book she'd doodled the plan in the margins of. It was pretty straightforward: Catch Jason alone in public, figure out his type, seduce him over such a timespan as the act demands, and get his secrets by coercion or otherwise. Around a stick-figure Jason Grace were the images she thought he'd most probably fall for: Classic Damsel, Innocent Starry-Eyes, Feisty Unbroken Mare, and so on.

She'd spent about a cumulative six hours perfecting a neutral intro of a whole of two minutes. The intro was the most difficult part: even though it involved the same things (don't show any personality and discover what personality the target requires), each time it was different, and so different that no single algorithm could be used to conjure all intros.

With Jason, her best bet was to 'run into him' somewhere far from the Compound, get him to ask her to coffee, and keep him there long enough for her act to burn onto his mind and pester him enough for _him_ to chase her the next time. He'd already seen her once, and his eyes _had_ wandered, now that she thought about it. Hopefully, Piper's original hypothesis that he'd be starved enough to chase her with little incentive was correct, because she hated doing the classical techniques.

If one trusted precedent, Jason was sure to fall for Innocent Starry-Eyes. Annabeth had clearly fallen for him thinking he was an angel dealing with filth, and even knowing the monster she stayed with him hoping she could turn him. Which was exactly what Innocent Starry-Eyes would entail: A short or long period of just friends and subtle cleavages flashes and sheers to aggravate him, then waiting for him to pounce upon and ravage her 'naiveness'. Then, he'd either keep her nearby to keep her quiet, or she'd have to turn up the intensity of her starry-eyed-ness and cling to him. _Then_ every one of his secrets was hers.

It was going to be certainly a painful method, but that didn't faze her. Because, after all, what _wasn't_ terrible in her world?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Fleck, the quote, and _Live! with Murray Franklin_ are from the movie _Joker_ starring Joaquin Phoenix. And yes, Piper really said 'beep' instead of the F-word. She is weird that way.


	14. White I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Kira chapter. Her color is white, but that shouldn't be taken symbolically at all. She's not peaceful, calm, pure or any other meaning attached to white. And her eyes are 'the deepest of blacks'. "Why white, then?" is a question for later.
> 
> This chapter is technically replacing a Reyna chapter, but I had some important plot to cover involving Percy and Kira, and I decided to not do it in Percy's PoV because why feed his ego? But he's a constant presence, so, if you're so inclined, you can think it's his chapter instead. There won't be more than two or three Kira chapters, but the ones that will be contain important plot advancement. In other words, I won't use her unless I absolutely have to.
> 
> **Kira's mindset is completely different from all the others you've already encountered, so this chapter may feel a little different in its narration and style.**

* * *

"Kira, can I know your middle name?"

She didn't even look up from the backpack she was stuffing with gear, unfazed by the interruption. "I hope that's not the real reason you're here. Or, at least, the only reason you're here."

"Why is that?"

"Because I won't give you an answer." She zipped it up and turned around to face her annoying colleague leaning against her door. "Now, why are you here, Jackson?"

"You told me to come to you when I was finished with improving Miranda's methods. I am finished with improving Miranda's methods."

"Extremely convenient for me." She swung the pack onto one shoulder and picked up her room's keys. "Come on, let's get you geared up."

"What do you mean?" he asked as they got out and she locked the door, "What convenience and what gear?"

"I'm scheduled for an espionage mission today," she explained as they started for the armory, "You can come along and observe me. See if you can improve my methods."

"Kira Summer, I do not sense a single drop of sarcasm in that last sentence. Have the Betas finally accepted my genius? When you all just basically rolled your eyes when I presented a better Zack, I thought you were still skeptical."

"We were, then. But we saw the results and most of us were surprised. We had planned to keep you till Zack fell back to inefficiency and then kill you, but you saved yourself."

"I really love myself," he said, "But, after you came to that conclusion, you still stayed nonchalant about my immense mental abilities... so as to not increase my pride?"

They reached the armory. She told Jake to leave them, and started searching for an appropriate gun. "Bingo. Now shut up about yourself and try the guns I give you. Did you learn to shoot?"

"The basics," he said, "I've been practicing my aim. You'll be pleased to know that it's good enough to not hit you instead of the target."

"That's reassuring," she muttered. She tossed him a Glock 28, and told him to try it.

"Good news for you, Kira, I practised with this model! So unless it's really shitty according to your standards, I'll use it."

He fired thrice and she judged his aim was, at least, better than a total newbie. "It will do. Choosing a better model won't be much improvement with your caliber. At least not as much as the damage it'll do to use an unfamiliar gun."

"A pun? A _pun_?! Did you just break the box I'd made for you in my head?" He shook his head. "Damn it, Kira, you keep turning more attractive every day!"

"Shut up," she told him, keeping her voice neutral, "Choose your disguise and we'll go start the mission."

"What's your disguise? How do you blend in with those masks? Do you remove them?"

"No, I don't. I just wear another mask. A less alarming one."

* * *

"Are all glasses this stupid? My nose is aching. It's probably visibly damaged."

"Can you quiet down for a second? We're almost at the location."

"If you don't tell me I look okay in them I'm gonna blow our cover. And don't say 'You wouldn't dare.' You know I would dare."

 _Why did I ever think bringing him to the field was a good idea?_ "You look good in them, Jackson. Now, quiet."

"One more request—don't call me Jackson. It feels strange to hear you say it."

She spotted the target and started looking for cover with a good view. "I'll be merciful and wait for an explanation before deciding whether that's an insult or not."

"Oh, I love your voice; It's not that," he said, "it's just that I think we're close enough to be on a first-name basis."

"We're really not, _Percy_." She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a building which looked rundown enough to get them easy access to the roof.

"Here's a pro-tip, Kira: Whenever you want to scold me or otherwise indicate that you're mad at me, use 'Perseus', not an emphasised form of 'Percy'. Anyway, why are we getting into this concrete corpse of a building?"

"We want to observe our targets without getting spotted or having to move around much. Essentially, we need a sniper's nest."

"Okay. What are the targets?"

"A few times in the last several months, Agents and Fighters have reported an unlogged, weird gang in this area. Many Agents have returned empty handed when sent to investigate, but Lupa suspects foul play, so we're here to check up on them and get information."

"'Unlogged'? You mean most gangs _are_ logged. And if we know about almost everyone else, what's the probability that there's not at least one gang that knows every detail about each Member?"

They got on a dingy elevator, and he punched the button for the third floor. "Not as low as you might think," she said as they rose, "First things first, we do _not_ know every last detail about the others. Second, most gangs in this city are as stereotypical as they get. I personally haven't seen a cult yet, but all the other types are here. Righteous bastards, vandals, dumb boys with guns, smugglers, blood lovers. Few are as refined as us and _none_ are so dedicated to hiding."

They stepped out and surveyed the landing. There was a small window that faced opposite the actual target, two shut doors and a half-open one. He looked at her for guidance. She tapped the gun at her waist and nodded at the apartment. She palmed her gun and saw him loosen his as he pushed the door open.

It was a squatting den, and a very welcoming one. No one paid them any mind. They quickly and inconspicuously made their way through it and searched for the fire escape/roof access ladder. They almost missed it twice because all of it that was visible from inside was a miniature garden of marijuana.

"What's different about this one?" Jackson asked, as soon as they were out of earshot, referring to the gang.

"The fact that it's not shown up before, for one. And guns, lots of them. More than is normal for any group that's _not_ just blood lovers. And, before you ask, we know they're not just blood lovers because we didn't get into a gunfight with them during Castellan's reign."

When they reached the roof, she crouched behind the short peripheral wall and told him to do the same. "These," she explained, taking his glasses off, ignoring his protests, "are called ExtraSight. They're topnotch spy gear, and we'll use them to observe the crowd below."

"What do they do?" he asked, as she put them on and pre-activated recording mode, "Why've we got just one pair? When will I get to use them?"

She was trying to choose what to display and change the video settings before actually starting the device, but his questions weren't allowing her to concentrate. "Calm down. God, you've become a lot more irritating lately. Why can't you be less annoying? Hell, I'd even accept the version during your presentation of modified Zack!"

"I only acted less 'annoying' then because that was a more critical situation, Kira. Also, there were people other than you around. Not you're alone and here for me to talk to and inquire of. So please answer my questions, oh lovely lady."

She huffed. "In the most basic terms, they highlight things that are dangerous to a spy, even if the object in question is hidden. Here," she handed him the contraption, "You go first. I've shortened the list of things that it'll show a bit and turned on recording. You just put them on, tap the top-right corner of the frame, peek over the parapet and describe what you see. Don't move jerkily, and don't make any noise. Tap the left lens lightly to power down when you're done."

He did as was told. As soon as he looked, she saw his eyes widen, though his face was neutral. He took a long sweeping shot of everything, and switched it off. When he spoke his voice was full of awe. "This thing is brilliant! You _have_ to tell me who built it. And I have a few questions. You have to answer all of them."

"Mission first, Perseus."

"Okay, fine," he said dejectedly, "The unlogged gang exists. A lot of gold—which I'm guessing is the indicator for 'dangerous objects'—all over. Crisscrossed gold beams over the crowd, golden weapons hidden on people, golden cameras. Oh, and also, big guns. Like really big ones. At least two videogame-like rifles lying about. And strangely, most people holding the guns are girls."

"Let me check it out." She took the ExtraSight from him and scanned the crowd herself. She caught two armed girls entering an expansive one-story building that was near the center of the communication dampeners and let her gaze linger. Three more girls entered the building, each carrying at least a pistol. After capturing a lengthy shot, she took cover once again.

"Okay, I've got what I need for now. We'll have to go back to ground level for more information. Ask your questions."

"Brace yourself: (1) Why do we have only one pair? (2) Why did we have to peek over the parapet if they can see hidden things? (3) What things did you cut off the list? (4) What were you looking at in the end? (5) What next? (6) Do you know how it works?"

"We only have one pair because one ExtraSight can detect another. That means, if any other ExtraSight is in range, both will display a blue color loud enough to overpower everything else. They had to put it in because other gangs have ExtraSights too. They made this feature un-turn-off-able after a practical joke that turned lethal. If we had brought two, we'd both only see blue and the warning to turn the device off.

"We had to be in line of sight because of how they work. Electromagnetic waves and sound waves both are used to detect hidden things and sound waves won't function through concrete. Clothes are fine because they're permeable to a wide range of EMW, and metal slabs are fine because they're regular and recreate the waves they block on the other side, and thus essentially don't hide anything. No walls, though, or metal-lined curtains. Moreover, the AR needs visual cues to display the position of the threats properly.

"I switched off the function to display the range of enemy cameras, which is only useful when sneaking about, and also the tracking feature, which is meaningless when observing a crowd. I was looking at five targets going into a building to memorise and record the place. And we're going to get near it and check it out. And I already answered how it works, at least briefly."

She expected another bunch of questions and possibly whining about field-work, but all he said was "I don't think I'm an objectophile."

* * *

When several more gunwomen emerged from and went into the pudgy building, they concluded that it was the gang's hideout... or at least one of them. As soon as the two of them recognised that it was a central location, the patterns began to emerge. Roaming around a bit, they discovered that the girls were patrolling the main building, orbiting it in groups, but making it seem as if they were walking around _other_ buildings. A whole loop around the central one was made up of six smaller loops, each around an unremarkable other structure. Each group was at least four gunwomen.

"If they have so many just as _guards_ , what will the total strength be? Five times as much? _Ten_ times?"

"I don't know, Kira, if they're clever enough to hide from you and us, they may be projecting up to fifty percent of their population so we assume that the total is huge. Like animals do, you know, by extending body parts or raising hair."

"So they're either crafty or many. I don't see a demerit in either case, except perhaps that being populous increases the chance of fragmentation."

He shook his head. "You're searching for their weaknesses. Peaceful coexistence doesn't really exist here, does it?"

"To keep the gun trained is to not get shot. We're always at war. Resources and infrastructure aren't as easy to obtain as we think. And everything except humans is salvageable, and humans are aplenty, apparently: It doesn't matter to the leaders how many _people_ you lose, what matters is how much can you loot before the enemy burns it down."

"That's interesting. And it clears up a lot of my backgrounds questions. So a regular Alpha doesn't attack but prepares to? Is that why Luke Castellan was not liked much, because he _did_ attack?"

"Yes, it is. Now, tell me, how good are you with computers?"

" _Computers_ , I don't know shit about. Programming, I'm good at."

"I _was_ referring to the programming aspect," she said, "And I'm hoping 'good' is humility and not sugarcoating, because here's what you're gonna do: I've got a device that is used to latch onto nearby nearby transmissions during espionage—" she dug it out and handed it to him—"see if you can do something with it."

He pocketed the thin rectangle and whispered. "Why don't we get somewhere darker, first?"

And that was how, after almost thirty minutes of roaming all over the place, they ended up smoking cigarettes while slumping against their original rundown concrete corpse. The alley they were in was trashy but not smelly. As a bonus, it was a dead-end, so anybody who entered it was either a threat or a threat. Percy had suggested that it could be another drinker, smoker, addict or homeless person, but she'd shot it down with the remark that those types, too, were a threat, only to the mission and not their lives directly.

When she was on her second cigarette (thankfully, her field mask still covered her face while allowing her to smoke), and he on his third, he stopped fiddling with her device and shoved it in her face. "Quick! No questions asked, is the number on the fifth line greater or smaller than one hundred fifty?"

She counted the lines and looked at the number. "Percy... that's six hundred ninety three. It's obviously greater than one hundred fifty."

She heard him mutter "Not _obvious_ ," as he pulled it back and began typing again.

"Why _isn't_ it obvious?" she asked, confused, "The number is right there! It's _really_ basic maths! How couldn't—?"

"No. Questions. Asked," he said through gritted teeth, continuing whatever it was he was doing. She decided not to intrude any further.

After another seven cigarettes between them and twenty-three long minutes of working on the console, he addressed her, apparently having calmed down from the previous anger. "I can see on your face right now that you don't trust me to keep us out of danger, milady, and I'm happy to announce you that no, I will not keeping us out of danger. I can't really hide our peek into their system: they're very good. I can only delay their discovery of it. I've accessed the fringes of their network by freeloading on passing patrols, and I've got an idea of their security, and it's really good.

"It's kind of like this: We'll get the key from a patrol, get into the vault, wear gloves, check out everything in it, and place it all the same way as before. But their security is good enough that they'll see where the dust came off when we touched them, and know we broke in from that. So, yeah, I can get us into this abstract vault, keep the security away while you copy the data we need, and delay them for ten minutes after we exit. Once we start to escape, we'll have at least ten minutes before they start monitoring everyone in the vicinity and probably gunning down anyone suspicious. Is that feasible? Should I do it?"

She was shocked. "Wow. I honestly expected you to whine about limited resources and not do anything. That thing's supposed to read nearby transmissions and decrypt them _only_. How did you do it?"

He actually almost looked abashed. "The original programmer left it recodable, a common courtesy for good coders. I'm good at OS and cryptosystems, and I've had to work with them in a similar project before. And the antenna circuit was easy—what can receive can send, as a rule, and so no new parts were required. But tell me, should we do it?"

"Yes we should. We'll just need to plan our escape well. Do you need to be close to their safehouse for it to work?"

"Nope, just need a gunwoman near for five minutes."

"Good. We'll go near the edge of the larger loop, between two smaller loops and time everything. You said I'll have to copy the data. What device do I use?"

"Oh, just your phone. you'll be able to plug into the spy device and thus the vault using your usual USB. Also, they will know the location of the phone we'll be freeloading on, so their search area will depend upon our initial position. We'll have to keep good transport close."

She took a last drag and flicked the half-done cigarette away. "Alright, let's do this: Any more worrying and one of us will probably chicken out."

* * *

"We're safe now," she said when they piled into a cab and told the driver the address, "They haven't been following us. But just to make sure that I haven't missed any tails, first, we'll go in some other direction, and wait there for a while. Then, we'll go back to the Compound, and, once we get off, we'll stay vulnerable for ten minutes to give them a chance to come out and attack, and retreat quickly into the Compound if they do."

"But then the tail will see us retreat and guess that's it's our safehouse."

"They'll only guess it's our safehouse if we don't come out for a long time," she told him, "We'll act as if we're going into an ordinary store and one we're inside, I'll mobilise a dozen Fighters to take her down."

"Good plan," he commended, "Where do you want to go for the first part?"

"I was thinking something along the lines of ice-cream?"

"Perfect."

She took over the watching duty while he searched up a nearby ice-cream parlor. If there were indeed any tails following them, they were _very_ subtle. After making the driver change their destination, Percy asked, "Did you get all the data?"

"Yes, I think. Personal records, copies of logs of bank transactions, access history of cryptocurrency accounts, safe deposits, and a weapon inventory. Got most of the important information."

"Genuinely curious and not bragging, what would you have done without me?"

"Returned to the Compound, picked up a Brain, gone back to the Murderess Bunker—which is, by the way, what I'm calling it from now on—and done the same thing I did with you."

"So I saved you a trip and the poor sheep of a Brain some trauma." He grinned. "Well, that completes my good deed for the month. Now for bad ones: Open up the files, Kira, I'm in the mood for some snooping."

She was admittedly in a similar mood, and so she did pull up the files on her phone. They agreed that the weapon and personnel inventories were the most potent, and so they came first.

The data confirmed their conjectures: it was a medium-sized heavily-weaponised all-female crime outfit. Their numbers were a little less than the Society's, but they spent enough on weapons to use up double of what the Society spent on them.

While they were still looking through the data, they arrived. They got out, paid, bought their ice-cream.

When they were alone again, seated in the back, side by side to be able to see the stolen intel, she voiced her disbelief. "'Amazons'? These guys are serious about their shit."

"And I think they'd take offense at you calling them 'guys'," he replied, "But anyway, let's move on to the profiles."

To save time, she'd only recorded the total number of Amazons for each bottom layer and not copied their profiles. The high-ranking ones, though, had their entire information stolen. For the most part, it was unremarkable faces and brilliant skill sets. The leader's name was 'Artemis Srebro' and her rank was 'Queen'. Her council consisted of two girls and three women, each doubling as her bodyguards too.

"Thalia Grace," he read from the profile of an Advisor, and added, "like Jason Grace."

"Nope. Not you. How can you be thinking that?"

"Oh, come on. It's a possibility. They can be related."

She shook her head. "No, stop being stupid. 'Grace' is _common_. I can conservatively estimate there are at least nineteen families in this city alone that have the same last name."

"Just _think_ for a second," he protested, "They either don't know each other, or are related. It is—"

"That's literally one step away from a tautology. I can say them same thing about any other Amazon in this list. Why stop at Thalia Grace? I can say Artemis Srebro herself is either related to Jason Grace, or doesn't know him at all. How is that at all less true?"

She could _see_ on his face how that made him realise what a load of crap the idea was. "Oh... Yeah, you're right, it's a near tautology. I'll drop it. But... wait, _Thalia_ isn't common, is it?"

"It's not. Why?"

"Because I've heard that name before...," he said, staring off behind her as if trying to remember, "Thalia Grace. Thalia. Yes, I've spoken it, heard it. Probably even met a girl with that name."

"So it's _déjà vu_. Can you recall where you met this or another Thalia Grace?"

"No, no. _Déjà vu_ is when you think you remember but you don't. It's just a miscommunication of the synapses. This I'm sure is a real memory..." He trailed off, then shook his head. "But until I remember the place where we met, it doesn't change anything. Okay... let's move on to the money transactions. Are they legible or meaningless numbers?"

"Wait. Let's get out of here first. I'm sure this much time wasted is distraction enough."

So they exited and hailed another cab. As soon as the car started, she opened the records (highly curious herself about the Amazons' better hidden finances as she was) and found them to be legible. "More than six bank accounts in this list alone. And most of these logs are exchanges between cryptocurrency and cash. So the banks accounts are just holders if the crypto crashes, and most actual deals are through virtual money, just like ours."

"Sounds like they're at least as smart as us, then. Check the crypto logs."

She was already scanning it. "This is more helpful than the bank records! They've actually filled in the reasons for the withdrawals in this one!"

"What do you mean?" He had been looking for tails as she'd instructed, half-standing in the tiny space and gazing through the back window, but presently he turned to face her.

"It looks like the members need to provide the reason for withdrawing money from the crypto-accounts," she explained, and held up her phone directly in front of him, "These access logs have a 'Remarks' column which states the cause for charging the account."

"So we can read their purchases? Guns, coke, knives," he read, scrolling down, and intermittently glancing through the glass for tails, "Wine, guns, expensive cigars, packaged food. Wait, what? Ten _thousand_ dollars for packaged food?"

She pulled her phone back and saw the account herself. "Why the hell do they need ten thousand dollars of packaged food? Why would they do that?"

"It could be a distraction?" he said, though it sounded like he was unsure himself, "Some weird way to throw people off their scent? Or a huge sleepover? Or charity. Maybe they sympathised with the earthquake victims in Hawaii?"

"Wait, don't theorise so fast. There's more of them: five thousand dollars for bottled water... another ten, twenty, thirty! Forty thousand for packaged food! And more I haven't explored. And these are just the last six weeks."

"It's almost as if they're preparing for _The Walking Dead_! See when these purchases started. I'm sure they've not been doing this for long. There would have been at least a ripple we'd felt if they'd been doing this for months. There's no way this much could be kept secret. Maybe a huge delivery truck to an odd-looking nonresidential noncommercial building could pass unnoticed three times or four, but surely not more than ten, eleven times. We'd have heard ab—"

"You're right," she cut him off, "Records from before two months ago have no mention of food or water. And even the ammunition orders are less numerous."

"What other strange things are mentioned?"

She scrolled back to the top and read. "Food and water... and clothes. That's it. Some hardware supplies, too, but that can be explained far more easily."

"Okay, I've got three ideas. Observation 1: They're a clever group of people. Theory 1: Food, water, clothes are code names for something even worse than guns, and even more secret. Observation 2: Judging by their name, they're a feminist, possibly misandrist group that wants to radically change the world. Theory 2: Two months ago, they decided to take under their wings the homeless and otherwise oppressed females and that caused a demand for rations, clothes, and more guns. Observation 3: The world is messed up. Observation 4: The hardware supplies. Theory 3: They caught wind of something that'll _really_ take us all to hell, and are prepping for it."

"I really want it to be option two, but I know it's most probably the last one."

"Yeah, me too," Percy said, "So _The Walking Dead_ is the way to go. But I don't think we can take their (heavily edited by you and me) word for it. Hopefully we have time to check it out ourselves."

Before she could reply, though, they reached the Compound. They got out, paid using the funds in the spy gear, and executed the second part of her plan. Five cigarettes and thirty minutes later, with no 'Amazon' forthcoming, they went inside and Argus held a hand out for their makers.

"About improving your methods... I'll have to accompany you once or twice more, and maybe on more _regular_ missions than this one, okay?" he said as he handed over his marker, a thin electric cell.

"As you wish."

Argus verified his then took hers and did the same. When he let them in, Percy spoke up again. "Who do we give this data to?"

"I'll handle it," she told him, "Lupa wants them, and she sent me, so I need to return it alone, or she'll launch into a lecture that nobody should suffer through."

"You took a big risk taking me with you," he said seriously, "Lupa's anger will be justified. I could screw it all up, being untrained in stealth."

"I know. I was hoping to get you killed," she sassed, internally confused by his grim tone.

He turned flirty again in a second. "You don't need to lie, Kira," he elbowed her, "we both know you just want more time with me."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note 6** : The Amazons and the Hunt are combined in this story. I just chose the name Amazons, because: (1) it seems more appropriate than the vaguer 'Hunters' or 'Hunt', (2) the concept of a bunker/warehouse and a large number of heavily armed girls is more Amazonian and (3) the Hunt's age range is not feasible in this AU, because not all families are monsters and so not all teens and certainly not many children turn to the dark side or even step out of the socially-defined moral path. (There will be a single exception to this general fifteen-plus rule, but that'll be later, and for convincing reasons.) Because remember, though all we see are messed up families for our characters, all of them are outliers, since this city is as conservative and do-gooding as it gets.
> 
> 'Srebro' is Polish for silver. "Why that language?" is, again, a question for later.


	15. Blue III

* * *

Jason was fantasising about Katherine Hill when Finn burst in waving a page.

"I was coming to you when somebody tapped me on the shoulder, and when I turned to look, there was nobody there. But then when I looked at my hand, I was holding this, and I was confused and brought it straight to you. It's probably yours so I haven't read it yet."

Jason took it from him, angry internally though he only let a longsuffering sigh show. "It's a list of this week's tasks that Mr D wants me to complete. They give it the same way every time."

"'They'?" the other boy asked, confused.

"One of the Betas, or maybe even some lower ranking Member with decent skills."

"Mr D gives _you_ tasks? Did Luke get them too? Why didn't he recognise Mr D's power then?"

"Don't know." Jason shrugged, skimming over the list even as he talked to Finn. "But my guess is he stopped giving Luke the tasks once he stopped obeying. I've learned from my conversations with Mr D that he was letting Castellan enjoy for a while to worsen the fall. He probably gave them to a Beta to complete instead."

"What's in there? Are you allowed to tell me?"

"'Course I am. Here, step closer and see. It's short enough, but a lot of work when executing."

The list was written in a slightly messy handwriting. It contained just three tasks, and accompanying instructions:

' _1) Drug delivery at six: Sixth floor, residential complex across the road from Q-Tone headquarters. Miranda will accompany you and authenticate the quality. Chiron will provide you transport and funds. Intimidation is extra-important on this mission._

' _2) Scouting in two days: A large batch of possible candidates will be directed along the usual recruiting spots from ten to five two days from now. Lead and coordinate the scouts. Sixteen Fighters and three Brains are required. Up to five unspecialised recruits for use as Aids._

' _3) Negotiations with Glenwood Guns later this week: Details not yet compiled. Keep your schedule clear; Place and time may arrive at eleventh-hour._ '

"A drug delivery in an office complex?!"

"It's clever. No one will be looking."

"But—" Finn spluttered, "Jason, _everyone_ will be looking! A dozen teens holding suitcases striding into an apartment building simultaneously? Even if you weren't carrying guns that would be suspicious."

He brushed it off, pulling out his phone to add reminders for the last two tasks. "We'll get in easily. We'll ask some Agents to teach us the sneaky-sneaky shit."

"You'll take Fighters with you, I hope," Finn said, concerned in that fake way of his.

Jason finished setting the reminders before he replied. "Your guns and mine will do, I think. Don't you?"

"I'll be honored," he said, "By the way, who is Miranda?"

"A Beta. She manages your drugs." Jason was distracted, debating about how to spend the next five hours since going back home wasn't an option. His choices were hosting an impromptu party to please Members of ranks Gamma to Eta, whom he'd been mostly ignoring for the last week, or strengthening his messiah image by touring the areas the lower Members—Zeta to Psi—frequented.

Naturally, he picked the first one.

But it couldn't be all play for him. He'd have to manage a slave free-for-all and not break his image at the same time. That meant he'd have to pretend to talk romantic with Annabeth and glue his eyes to her to prevent his predators eyes from showing. _Where is Annabeth anyway?_

"Finn, go fetch Annabeth for me, and also bring me three top-level Aids and two Epsilon Fighters."

The younger boy nodded and left. Since he would be left alone for a while, Jason decided to text Katherine. His quest with her had been slow from the beginning and probably would be slow for a while: He could have someone fetch her and tie her up, but it would ruin his image, and he was having other types of fun in the chase itself.

' _Day after tomorrow's off,_ ' he typed, ' _You free Saturday?_ '

It didn't take her a minute to answer, and Jason was pleased. ' _Yes I am. Heavy workload?_ '

' _Heavier than Earth. What're you doing rn?_ '

' _Trying to doodle my way out of Maths. You?_ '

He took a moment to think about his answer. ' _Slacking at work, talking to you, waiting for Annabeth. You choose._ '

' _And you say you're busy. When are you leaving?_ '

' _Technically, I'm leaving at 6, but I'll be free after 9. Why do you ask? You know we can't meet up here. Others will misinterpret our friendship._ '

' _I know. But I was thinking if you, me and Annabeth meet up at the same time. People know I know Annabeth. And Beth with you is no biggie, obviously. Thus, the three of us together means no misinterpretations, and we can have a lot of fun together!_ '

' _We'll def try it sometime. Not today, though: Even if I'm free enough right now, I've got dangerous & time-consuming tasks up ahead._'

' _OK. Saturday, then. Good luck, and, depending on the task, enjoy yourself._ '

' _Thanks, goodbye._ '

She sent him a gif of a puppy waving, and Jason was hit again by her stupidity. She believed that he wanted to be just friends, that he was going to be her cute romcom-worthy male best friend, that he was _good_.

He'd even mostly relaxed his acting when he was around her: Even if she saw his predator eyes, her naive brain wouldn't be able to figure it out. His only worry when she was around was whether someone was watching, because he hadn't dropped Annabeth, and he wasn't ready to drop her yet, and even if he was, it would take about two weeks to get rid of her fully and cleanly.

"Jason?" Annabeth's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was standing in front of his desk in an all-covering outfit, and behind her were Finn and the other Members he'd called for.

He cleared his throat unnecessarily, and addressed the Aids. "I want you to set up the meeting room for a feast. Invite all Members with ranks Gamma to Eta. Get double the size of each invitee's privileges and some extra Gamma level ones from Lee. It's gonna be four hours free-for-all, so get help from Simon and Darius as well. I want to boost everyone's spirits post Castellan's disastrous term."

The Gamma Aid spoke up. "It'll take us an hour, at least."

"You'll have to manage it in half. Annabeth and I'll be present as well, so make sure we're shielded from the more graphic things. Use as many Aids you like. Go now."

The Aids practically flew out of the room. He faced Annabeth again, and said, "I know you don't like it, and I don't like it too. But we've got to cheer them up, and this is the best way."

His girlfriend nodded loyally. "We'll do what is necessary. I'll endure their enjoyment if that's what you need."

 _Very poor choice of words, that. God, stop putting images in my head, Annabeth!_ He closed his eyes to keep the others from knowing what was going on in his mind. "Derek and Travis, get a few more Fighters and supervise the Aids. Peacefully. If you absolutely _have_ to, only then pressure them violently. Help them if Simon and Darius doubt their authenticity. Finn, help Derek and Travis."

"Okay, Jason." He heard Finn's say, and then heard their footsteps leaving. Once he was sure they were out of earshot, Jason opened his eyes.

Jason could see that Annabeth recognised the type of his thoughts, but she was well trained by now and didn't react noticeably. In the beginning, she would flinch, back away or tense up, but now just her gray eyes conveyed her terrified thoughts.

"No, I'm not going to— Not today," he assured her, because he really didn't have the time to torture her before the feast, "But we _are_ going to the party, and you will behave. I'll have to keep talking to you to prevent them from scrutinising me, and you must be cheerful." He didn't have to state the 'Or else...' part, because she was familiar enough by now.

She nodded meekly, and he continued. "Come here; Sit with me. We'll have to pass the time till they're done with it."

Annabeth took one step but paused before the next. Her voice was extremely quiet when she said, "Can we instead visit the lower ranks?"

"Good idea." Jason stood up, and got out from behind his table. "Do you know where they are usually?"

"I know about Pi to Upsilon Members," Annabeth said as he took her hand and pulled her toward the door, "Zetas, Chis and Omegas are normally roamers."

"That'll serve our purpose well enough. Stay close to me and whisper when there's information I don't know. Keep quiet when I speak but be interactive when I don't. Submissive, always. Loving, always. They should _see_ it."

* * *

Barely thirty minutes had passed since the start of the feast when Ethan found him.

Jason was returning to his seat with drinks in his hands, having successfully avoided commanding an Aid to get it for him to maintain the Good Guy act, and Ethan apparently had been searching for him. Jason nodded at him and led him toward a corner, to get out of the way of the high and brawly mass of Members and to get some privacy.

"Gwen's not coming," Ethan said when they reached the side, "She says she understands why you had to do this, and commends you for letting Members enjoy peace, but she can't spectate."

"That's okay," Jason replied, "I was expecting that. How are you?"

"If you're taking about life in general, nothing much has changed since we last spoke. In the context of this party, I'm great. Even though most of what's offered here is already a part of my privileges, it's just something else when more people around me are enjoying the same. You know Gammas are fiercely compressive. Well, except you previously, Gwen, Tanishq and me. Now you're busy, and Gwen's... well, Gwen. So, except Tanishq sometimes, I've got no company to chill out with!"

"At least none that'll allow you to enjoy your coke," Jason agreed, "You should hang with me sometimes, then."

The other boy scoffed. "I've got work, and so have you. And I have no interest in taking Finn's job as your bodyguard, because even though I love you, I love guns that are actually being _used_ , more." He patted Jason's shoulder. "On that topic, _dude_ , give me a bloodbath! I'm starved! Peace is chafing at me like being dragged across the entire length of the Sahara naked facedown."

"There's always someone who's unhappy," Jason said, smirking, "Don't worry, I'll get you your bloodbath. You can go on every goddamn bullet-y mission you trigger-happy idiot."

Ethan grinned. "That's the Jason I know."

"Well, enjoy yourself now. I have to get back to Annabeth. She'll come running here if I stay away one more minute. See you soon. Stay sober."

Ethan smiled once more like _Don't hold your breath,_ and left. Jason started for his seat. The party was a success: His supporters had increased, and his benevolence was clear to all. Jason couldn't exactly pinpoint _why_ he needed a large group of supporters any more, since Luke Castellan had survived with basically just fifteen supporters, and if he hasn't overreached, he could have been Alpha for a long time with just those fifteen. _And_ Jason was, for all intents and purposes, the divinely ordained leader. He had support of the ultimate authority—Mr D!

But removing dissenters felt natural. His original plan, which had involved killing Luke and taking the throne without any clear authority to give it to him, had required people loving him, and so he'd sown the seeds of the Savior and Great Leader. If he were to revert to normal, a side none except Annabeth had seen since more than half a year, the backlash would be massive, and maybe just enough to topple his throne. _That's the problem: People like to idolise and demonize, and don't care about anyone in the middle._

Annabeth was talking with some girl when he returned, sitting on his seat. Spotting Jason, she dutifully sent the Member off and got up herself for him to sit and then sat on his lap, perfectly loving. He placed his hands on her waist and gently turned her to face him, hiding the rest of the feast from his view.

Caressing her cheek, he asked, "What's happening in your life?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Nothing much. You already know everything."

They were backed up against the front of the hall, so it took him just a second to check for people within earshot. "Tell me. What is happening in your life?"

It was a real question and not just filler for the act and Annabeth understood it the second time. "M-Mom discovered my stash of medical supplies."

"Why do or did you have a stash of medical supplies?"

"To try to heal from our sessions." Her words were rushed and he felt her tense up, as of bracing herself for a hit or a verbal attack.

Jason, however, was quite neutral about it, possibly even happy. "That was a good idea. Reduces your pain and give me more to work with. What did you tell her?"

"That I was doing charity work with friends and those were my supplies for the month."

"I'm guessing she threw them out?"

"And slapped me and starved me for two days. She thought it was the reason for my dropping grades and went crazy with me about it."

"That's a bold move, considering she's a normal citizen and a lawyer on top of that, and knows very well the possible consequences."

Annabeth lowered her head in agreement. Jason saw someone approaching in his peripheral vision and leaned forward to meet her lips. He used his hand on the side of her face to control her moments for the first few shocked seconds, so it would look like she was expecting and liking the kiss. Annabeth was pretty perceptive, and kissed him back in a two-count, though he could feel that the hand she was running through his hair was shaking.

When they separated for air and decency reasons, Finn was standing awkwardly in front of them. Upon seeing that they'd stopped their PDA, he cleared his throat and said, "Just here to report about the feast."

"Go on," Jason said, intentionally glancing at Annabeth many times like he couldn't keep his eyes off her, "Tell me how it's going."

"It's working out fine. Going by current rate, we've fortunately overestimated everyone's appetites for slaves and drugs, and so those are in good supply. Booze isn't so easy. By my estimate, we'll need thrice the original amount, and for that I need your approval."

"You've got it already," Jason said, "Just keep people happy. Are people happy?"

"Yes they are! Not one guest has left, and only one mild injury has been reported. Darius and Lee—who are both the unofficial distributors for the day—both said Members are positively euphoric because of the free-for-all. You needn't worry, Jason. Things are going great, and I have it under control."

"Good. Let it sink in that it's peacetime. Report only once every hour from now on, Finn. And enjoy yourself, too. I know you already have all of these privileges, but, as Ethan Nakamura reminded me, it's more fun to enjoy together. You can even flex to the Deltas and Epsilons if that makes you happier."

"I will, Alpha," he said, and walked away.

_And for Christ's sake, leave me alone. I don't want to switch on my act every ten minutes just because you're a loner who has nobody else to talk to._

* * *

"So... are you going to sniff out the quality or what?"

Miranda was predictably infuriated by then. She ran a hand through her fiery hair and whispered scathingly, "Why the hell does everybody like to pick on me? I know you all know I've got at least three daggers on my belt at any moment. And you also know I am skilled at using them. Then _why?_ Why aren't you scared of me?!"

"That's what Billie Eilish said." Jason gestured his guards closer for safety. They were one story below the meeting spot, and everyone had their hands near their weapons. "I think it has something to do with your intimidating stature." He patted her head, making a show of it.

In reply, she brandished a medieval-looking knife and brought it to his neck. Four out of the six guards were aiming at her the next moment. The remaining two followed soon after. The Beta looked unbothered by it. "I don't think the power differential between us has been tested, _Grace_. I really wanna find out who's more important. What do you think? Would Mr D mind terribly if I try to test who's powerful?"

"I think," he reached up and nudged the blade away from his throat, but it didn't budge more than an inch for more than a second, "that none of us here are as keen to 'test' it as you are. Maybe Mr D won't mind, but I've personally improved the ranks and lives of more than two-thirds of the support team we've brought with us, and I think _they'll_ mind. And you are one against them. Though consider me warned. I don't want Mr D angry at me, least of all because you couldn't take a joke." She drew the knife back, muttering violently.

"If you two are done," one of the Gammas—Clarisse—said, looking exaggeratedly bored, "I'm a Fighter and I'm here to fight, or at least hold my gun threateningly and fire a few warning shots. Can we move on?"

"Let's go," Jason said, gesturing for the vanguard duo to start climbing the stairs once more.

The reception committee wasn't violent, thankfully. Nor were there traps at the entrance. _Huh, straightforward._ The entire apartment was a single contiguous room, squarish and grey, stripped clean of every obstacle. _Nothing to hide behind._

The sellers were standing in formation against the far wall. There were two medium-sized suitcases by the feet of the man whom Jason thought to be the leader. The guy was standing in the center, looking huge in the most frightening way, scowling but in a neutral way.

 _They shouldn't know I'm inexperienced. Act natural, calm._ "Exchange at the count of three," he announced without ceremony, speaking slowly and clearly, "We'll block the entrance till the purity is confirmed. I'll leave after, and for three minutes none of you will follow."

"Three," the other leader started, agreeing wordlessly, and his lackeys set their suitcases on wheels. Finn and Mark followed suit as Jason said, "Two."

Jason and the tall guy said, "One," in sync and the suitcases were pushed off. Of the five that were set rolling in total, two stopped fairly near their target, one bumped against Jason's legs and stopped, and other two slammed into their catchers. One on each side. Mark muttered a particularly long and detailed curse, rubbing his shin, and after six seconds of absolute silence, everybody started laughing.

Except Miranda and the other team's verification guy. Both of them knelt at once and began testing their charges at once. The guy on the other side powered up five cash scanners and began stuffing the bills in them, instructing another guy to repack the ones that were checked. Miranda pulled out a small lab of miniature equipment and started collecting and checking samples.

It was a sight to watch, once everyone stopped laughing. Each person was glancing between their team's verifier and the other team's gunners. Not a word was spoken in the eleven long minutes it took, and yet the tension was as high as during a nuclear launch.

The drugs were proven real and pure first and the money followed shortly after. Jason nodded at the other leader as soon as they were done, and they started to back out. Once out of sight of the sellers, he caught the eyes of the rear guards and pointed, commanding them to take their positions.

Two more Fighters were dropped off at the fourth floor, and then the rest continued together to the vehicles. Jason and Miranda got in, waiting inside with the adult Aids that had driven them there. Two minutes later, the four rear guards arrived, and got into the last van, and Jason gave the order to drive them back.

Jason suppressed his curiosity till they were safely away, but no longer. "Was that normal? All the tension and silence?"

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Yeah. It's always tense, and ready to tip to violent with a single misunderstood phrase. And don't think it's because of you being there. Usually, they don't even know which one of us is superior. Back when Castellan was alive, I used to do drug deals myself, and I made a different Member act as the Alpha each time. They know to fear Mr D, that's all."

"Fastest way to destroy a guy's ego," Clarisse commented.

All three of them laughed, though internally Jason was making similar calculations to the ones that Miranda had earlier: How much would Mr D mind if he killed her?

* * *


	16. White II

* * *

"Kira's here. Now let's _start!_ I'm bored just sitting here."

It had been Percy Jackson who had spoken, she noticed. They all had been waiting for her. With six Betas in attendance, that was a bad, bad thing to do. _It's hardly my fault, though,_ she thought as she took an empty seat and forced herself not to pant, _I literally came as fast as I could. Throw your judgemental looks at Bill instead, that idiot. I got to know late; It's all his fault._

Chiron began without ceremony. "I suspect most of you have already seen the shadows of panic in your fellow Members on the way here, and some of you may have heard the news. We got a message from Zack Wildes fifteen minutes ago that he, along with thirty-three other Fighters, have been surrounded by a hundred or more Bloodless gang members." He paused for effect, and there were several curses and gasps around the table, and hers was one of them. Chiron nodded as if validating the reaction and continued. "Except Zack, our group contains six Gammas, five Deltas, twelve Epsilons and ten Phis. We have to rescue them, and you all are here to discuss how."

_So small a force, but most of them high-ranking... And who's gonna lead the rescue team? Grace? Lupa?_

"First things first," Andrew started, "where are they, and how long can they hold?"

"They are in an abandoned industrial block in Yellowmine," Chiron answered quickly. She noticed he was trying to pluck at his wheelchair's thin spokes absentmindedly, nervously. "The first wave has passed, and they've retreated to the catwalks of a 'hanger-sized' warehouse. They're low on ammunition, but the enemy doesn't know that yet. Because of the high ground advantage, the Bloodless aren't attacking currently, but we expect they'll tire soon and send some bullet-fodder, and immediately realise our situation. We have to get there within an hour, at the most."

"Lupa," she said as soon as Chiron finished his depressing information dump, "You're the most knowledgeable person about our Fighters present here. How many do we have? How many will we need?"

Lupa, who had been pacing in a loop around the table, stopped and looked at her neutrally. "With a good plan and the element of surprise, less than sixty veteran Fighters can defeat those hundred Bloodless. We have more than we need."

"Just not veterans," Bill said, "Most of the good ones are sitting there to be rescued."

"We can bring them ammo." Percy interjected. "Is it possible? Have we got thirty veterans that can carry twice their weapons?"

Chiron answered quickly. "Yes, we do. And they'll only have to carry the cartridges for Zack and his team, I believe, and not the weapons. That'll save much energy."

"Are there any casualties? We'll need to replace them with extra Fighters from here. Ask him if they need and weapons too. There may be malfunctions."

"There aren't any serious injuries, yet, Mr Jackson," Lupa said, "And we do not know about the weapons. However, you are missing an important point here. How do you hope to harness surprise if you want to get ammunition to the thirty-four sitting ducks in the catwalks when they're surrounded before you start your attack?"

"We'll have the shock value on our side only for the first wave," she agreed, "We have to make the most out of it. They'll have to fight with what weapons they have in the beginning."

"This'll be a lot easier if we have Zack on the phone," Miranda suggested, "Just call him and put him on the speaker."

"I agree," Chiron said, and started to dig his phone out, "Do we need Jason Grace here too?"

It was Lupa who answered. "Not need, Chiron, we have a strategist and three Brains here already; He won't be worth much. And as for commander, Kira will lead the charge."

She nodded once, glancing over at the others' faces to check if anyone objected. All neutral faces. "If I'm taking command I need Miranda and Percy at my side on the front line. I'll also need a Member with me who can recognise others from a distance and _knows_ all the Fighters."

"Except Lupa and Zack himself, I think the drugs guy or the slaves guy are your best options." Andrew said, "Miranda and Bill's subordinates. What're their names?"

"Darius and Simon," Chiron said, "But which one of them is more knowledgeable?"

"It's Darius," Percy said, "When I was improving Bill's department, I met Simon, and he's less than half himself more than half the time."

"Okay, I'll take Darius with me. Strategies?"

Nyssa spoke up for the first time. "Classic trap: Thin them out and breach at the weakest point."

Before anyone could answer, the call connected and Chiron put Zack on the speaker. Addressing the phone, he said, "Zack, we're preparing a rescue plan and may need reports about on-site details. Please listen to the conversation carefully and provide details that harm or support the plan."

"Zack's the one wailing in the background, if you can hear it," the phone said, "He's been shot straight through his calf. This is Ethan Nakamura, Gamma. I heard your order; Continue with your strategizing."

"Ethan, this is Percy. How are your weapons? I know they're almost empty, but no other problems? Can you use them normally if we bring bullets?"

"Yes, Jackson. No weapons were hurt, just us."

"How much breathing room do you have beyond that one warehouse?" Andrew asked, "Do you have more than one buildings within the circle of Bloodless?

"Three buildings. Both two stories and half the size of this one. But we're in the open if try to move to them. They'll fire like crazy as soon as one foot is outside the door."

"Who else has been injured seriously since we called Zack?"

"I don't know whom you don't know about, but in total there are eight who won't move unless carried, and twelve who can't shoot."

Andrew shook his head and said, "Okay Ethan, hold. We'll need to incorporate that into our plan. We can't use _just_ distraction, now: They can't run. We'll have to drive the Bloodless away. Or kill them, but I don't think even Mr D's resources can obscure that many deaths as accidents on the same day."

"They can't," Lupa answered, taking her seat again, "To drive the Bloodless away... What do we know about their tendencies, Kira? How are they as a group?"

Her phone was out in a second, recognising the command, and the files open in another. She read the conclusions they'd made from their previous spy missions on the Bloodless. "Unless this is a part of the Bloodless that deviates from their general behavior, we know that they're fairly strategically smart, not bloodthirsty, have good marksmen, are mostly males, aged from seventeen to thirty. That's all the relevant information we have."

Percy's face lit up with an idea. "We can scare them away by showing we have superior numbers and that we've surrounded _them_."

"We'll be spread out if we ever manage to convince them they're surrounded," Miranda pointed out.

"Yeah, but we'll spread them out even more. It's just like Nyssa said, diversion tactics. We'll make them start to move in onto our ducks, then draw some out, get the ducks their bullets, fight, pretend to surround, scare, win."

"And how," Nakamura said over the phone, "do you hope to get them to move in onto us and not kill us before you get the bullets to us?"

The green-eyed boy was unfazed, though everyone else around the table was in some state of 'Nope, no way we're doing this.' He answered without missing a beat. "I'll need some on-site intel in a minute. But first, can I get maps?"

Argus, who had been still as a statue the whole meeting, stood up and deposited a wide-screen laptop in the center, pushing it down so out was flat on the desk. He also set down three styluses, helpful as always. Chiron opened up a satellite map, which was hopefully up to date, and found the location on it.

"Now, Ethan, I see the building you're in has adjacent buildings to the north and southwest. Are those the ones within the Bloodless perimeter?"

"Yes, they are."

He studied it for a minute, and then said, "Now, do three things for me: (1) Get someone to figure out if there are any gymnasts in your group, (2) Get someone to find out if your warehouse has any openings that match up with those of the adjacent ones, and if so, how large? (3) We're sending you a satellite map, mark all last confirmed locations of the Bloodless on it, and send it back ASAP. Got it?"

Surprisingly, Ethan did not comment on the weirdness of the orders. With one nod from the strategist, Chiron did the honors and sent the Gamma a screenshot. While they waited for the answers, she saw realisation flash on Andrew's and Lupa's faces after three minutes and one, each, and saw Percy nod to their baffled gazes.

The phone spoke more than five minutes later. "One of them has a truck-sized loading bay thingy, and the other has a single door. Both are open, and our own warehouse, for some reason, has got almost no walls on those sides. But I still say we'll be killed the moment we step out. Next, the map is being passed around still. I'll send it back soon. Lastly, we've got no gymnasts, but we have three Fighters who who say they can parkour, and thus accomplish most of a gymnast's job. Will that be a good alternative?"

"Yes! That'll be perfect! Put those parkourers—sorry, tracers—on the phone and tell them to listen to the plan and interrupt me if they can't do what I say."

"They're already on. Speak."

"The plan is simple. The enemy will be, being human, aiming directly at the exits at _midsection or head level_. Our tracers—who, if you didn't know, kind of specialise in this—will somehow get out of the current warehouse and into the loading bay while staying, at all times of exposure, more than six feet above the ground. So, they'll be seen, but not shot because re-aiming takes time. They'll escape and hide in the warehouse, and the Bloodless will come in, thinking they've caught us out of the catwalks.

"The escapees will travel over the heads of the attackers nearest to them closing in, and once they're far enough, an outsider team will fire at the Bloodless of that arc, while retreating, pretending as if _they_ are the escapees. We actually don't even really need the tracers to travel over the heads of the attackers for this to work—they can just hide in there somewhere. Frustrated and/or excited by the prospect of more than a few Members on the run, the Bloodless _will_ try to follow them, thus breaking the circle of enemies tightening.

"Another outsider team, waiting at the sidelines till then, will go through this gap and get the ducks their weapons, turning them into Fighters again. All of them will then use the breach again, escape the circle, join us on the outside. We'll form a distorted perimeter around them, grenade one end, weaken the circle at the other, let them run away and pursue them for a while or maybe not. Done! Come home, have dinner."

"A good plan, if we can pull it off." Andrew said, echoing her own thoughts, though in lot less surprised manner.

"That's brilliant!" Bill exclaimed.

"Let us make a checklist," Lupa said, bringing all the shocked faces back to business, "I'm assuming these stuntmen have no issues with their part. We need thirty quick, skilled, and strong Fighters. We need secure, swift channels to the 'ducks' while the plan is being executed. We have to make sure the Bloodless are in constant motion, so they are less aware of their environment. We'll need medical kits and Aids to treat the Fighters, armor for the escapees on the off chance that they're shot at, and a backup plan."

"We've got enough armor for the three of us to be safe." One of the tracers spoke up through the phone.

"As for secure communication," Percy said, "I think I've seen an app designed by a Gamma Brain to serve the exact same purpose."

Andrew glared at him. "I thought I told you not to peek into the others' projects." When the other boy just smiled and shrugged, Andrew turned to the rest of the table and said, "That's correct. I'll send you the files to install and we'll be all set for encrypted comms, at least as secure as we can get on regular channels. Also, if I'm not wrong, our only backup plan will be fire at will, unless someone has a better idea?"

"There's no time to discuss an elaborate backup plan," Nyssa said, shaking her head, "Let's disperse to our jobs, we're gonna be late to the location. I'll get the cartridges, Lupa will pick the Fighters, Andrew, send the files, and the rest of you get ready."

"Good thinking, Ms Barrera. Percy, Andrew, Kira and Lupa and me will be in touch till completion to clear up the finer points. Argus will be coming with you. We'll prepare the medical kits, Aids, and the other logistics."

And so they dispersed.

* * *

"If this ends up killing us all, I'm gonna find Zack in whatever afterlife and castrate him with a clay-cutter over a few months. Then I'll chop his limbs off, just one thin, jagged slice at a time. With the clay-cutter, of course."

"My dear Kira, if you want to scare me, you should've just said 'Boo!'" Percy said, "Really, I'm the worst when it comes to jump-scares. You could tell me someone is trying to scare me, and even then they could scare me by simply yelling 'Boo!' and jumping out of their hiding place."

"You've increased your pain-in-the-ass-ness tenfold since we left the others," she observed.

He grinned, moved closer to her and whispered conspiratorially. "We can't let everyone know about our intimacy, right? So I decided that I'll stay detached and you'll act aloof when we're not alone."

"We're not in any way intimate," she said, but her tone was venomless and she was rolling her eyes, beyond accustomed to it, "and we aren't alone, Perseus. Miranda is right here." She pointed to where the other girl lay on her stomach, trying to see how far the plan had progressed through her binoculars.

"Alone refers to without people around us. Miranda doesn't fall under people," he said simply, "So then, milady, what do you want to do, not that we're alone?"

"I would very much like to become un-alone," she said as she shifted to lie next to Miranda and took the binoculars herself.

Percy Jackson made a sound of protest but didn't take it any further. The binoculars showed her that the escape was underway. In a minute Team One would distract the targeted Bloodless group and draw them away. She set it down and told her colleagues to get ready. Percy and Miranda nodded back at her, and the three of them dropped to the ground from the low roof they were on.

Some of the Fighters started a little by their sudden appearance, but none made a noise. They'd been resting to make sure they wouldn't falter when the approach began, and they got up now, ready to deliver the weapons. Many of them, she could see, were clear, raw brutes: These were just shields and mules, the actual skilled Fighters were either trapped inside without ammo, or were forming the perimeter around the perimeter of the Bloodless.

"Team Two," she addressed them, looking each of the nine right in the eyes in a circle, "I know you probably don't care whether anyone here except you lives or dies, but I also know you're here only for the drugs or slaves or comics or whatever. And you'll only get them if we get back and tell Lupa you're worth it. Hence, it's in your best interests that we get back. Okay?"

The brutes nodded, and they took their positions around the corner of a warehouse, where they could see the Bloodless start to chase Team One. It wasn't long before they did, and as soon as the last of the group was out of a direct line of sight, Team Two advanced to the north building, and stopped just inside the door that would lead to the ducks.

She told the others to stay back and pulled out her spy-camera and set it on the floor. She used the stick it was mounted upon to slowly moved it into the street. First one side, then the other.

When she pulled it back inside, Percy pulled her further in and asked, "What is that?"

"Spy-camera," she explained, holding it up, "It's camouflaged, and it clicks a dozen photos with different focus points, so that the spy doesn't have to manually set up the focus. We need to check whether the Bloodless to our sides have taken the bait and started moving."

Without waiting for a reply or acknowledgement, she pulled up the images she'd clicked, and began to study them. And it was really bad. The Bloodless in their signature red hoodies were very visible, but none of them was facing toward the ducks' position. "All of them are still aiming right here! They haven't taken the bait!"

"Damn it!" Percy cursed as they walked back to Team Two, "Lupa said to keep them on the move constantly and their lazy asses just want to sit there! We need to provide more bait." He turned to her. "Kira, who's leading Team One? Can we contact them directly?" When she nodded, he thought for a moment and said, "Give me the secure phone, I have to text them something."

She brought it out, typed in the identifier for Team One's phone, and handed it over and watched over his shoulder as he typed. ' _This is Kira Summer and I need you to follow these instructions out ASAP. Get cover somewhere and get the Bloodless following you in earshot but at a distance. Create a pretend stalemate. Then, hold up your phone as if you're calling Zack and speak this into the phone, loudly enough that the Bloodless hear it—"Zack, we've distracted them successfully, you can move out now. Repeat: You can move out now." Repeat that twice or thrice just to make sure. Watch them for five minutes before you start shooting to injure. Reply when done._ '

It was a good move. She was about to praise him when the reply arrived. ' _We're already in that position, Beta. Will execute as soon as this message is sent._ '

They met eyes after reading it, and she nodded at him, and said, "We'll set up the camera again."

And they did. Well, she did. Pushed it out an inch every thirty seconds to check their positions. Everyone was getting visibly bored and nervous when Miranda apparently remembered something. "And Alan," she said, "as much as I _looove_ that you have one, I want absolutely _no_ battle cry out of you when we start the run."

Alan the redhead brute looked heartbroken at that and all _she_ could think was _Just kill me, God._ And then: _What if Miranda hadn't remembered? Was this idiot seriously going to yell out as we ran directly into enemy territory?_

The thought was disturbing, but before she could dwell on it, her phone screen lit up. Team One's leader had finally replied. ' _Done. Saw the Bloodless bring up a cell, too. We'll start serious shooting in a minute._ '

This time it was Miranda who pushed the camera out, impatient yet not haphazard. They crowded over the images and yes, the Bloodless were visible in profile now: They were aiming at the center, which _was_ a situation they'd planned for.

 _Plan six, then._ "Listen carefully," she whispered, "we'll huddle up together, with Miranda, Percy and me in the center and you all surrounding us, three to the left and right, one right in front and two at the rear. We'll run to the warehouse as one, keeping close and coordinated.

"As soon as we're under that roof, the leftmost four will head to that column on the left, take whatever cover is provided by those almost absent walls, and hand over their supplies to that catwalk. The other five, with us, will go to the more proper, safe corner on the other side, hand over _their_ supplies to their catwalk.

"The three who were guarding our right will stay back there to help the ducks escape, while the others huddle again and bring us back. We'll go straight to outside our own perimeter and join the others. Decide your positions right now, without making any noise louder than a whisper. But let me advise you—no position is really better than any other." Which could be a lie, since even Percy and Andrew didn't know if any position was better. But the boys' brains had come up with it, and it was a quick way to make sure no one felt cheated or spent time arguing and thinking.

It worked. Nine Fighters fell into their chosen positions without violence or shouting, and the three Betas adjusted their exact distances to make sure they could run and stay safe the same time. Once than was dealt with, it was time to execute the first dangerous part of the plan.

There was a silent moment in which everyone steeled themselves. She looked at the other two and confirmed they were crouching enough and ready to run. Then, a single commanding whisper: "Go."

The Fighter in vanguard position was faster than expected, so there was a momentary gap between him and the next layer, but thankfully, they had started a few steps from the door, so they got a few seconds to catch up and fill the gap. When they stepped outside, they were one high velocity creature. They didn't split up once they were in. Fortunately, Miranda had clearly already thought of that and the low brain capacity of their protectors. She shoved the Fighters nearest to her toward their positions, also using that momentum to push _herself_ toward the right corner.

The others got the message as the three Fighters stumbled to the left column and split up. She noticed the four rearmost brutes had been hit, but the injuries weren't serious. At least, the owners of the wounds gave no sign that they were hurt. Archiving that as a problem for later, she began pulling the precious cargo off the nearest injured Fighter, gesturing for the others to do the same.

The stranded group's hands were already reaching down as far as they could from the catwalk, wanting to get armed as early as possible. Team Two obliged, and within a minute all the magazines and basic armor was delivered to the ducks.

Without waiting for the ducks to get ready and jump down, she ordered her group to crowd up again.

This time it was little more haphazard, since the Bloodless were closing in for _sure_ now, and there wasn't a run-up, to make sure they stuck close. Moreover, their positions weren't decided. _Damn it! We planned for_ everything _and forgot this one tiny part!_

Fortunately, it didn't affect much. There _was_ a huge hole in the protective shell due to miscoordination, and it _wasn't_ rectified until after they were halfway across the street. But thankfully Percy had the presence of mind to pull her and Miranda backwards a little and thus into the bullet-shadow-area of the Fighters.

Nodding him a thanks once they reached the exit route and she'd commanded the team to continue running in formation till they reached the Society's perimeter, she took a moment to report the situation to Lupa. It was quite the task to type while running for (almost) her life, but in the end she managed to summarise the execution in four lines.

Lupa's first text was instantaneous, as if she'd been waiting to get a sign that the channel was being listened to. ' _Mr D has permitted a maximum of ten deaths on our side. Be careful with what you risk. We're monitoring police in the nearby area, and will inform you if a deadline appears. Stay alert._ '

The next text, which was an actual response to her report, came a little later, presumably because Lupa had to read, think and type. ' _Good work so far, Ms Summer. Continue to follow the plan and you all will get out of there. Tell Mr Jackson to be careful about the perimeter's shape._ '

They were still running, protected by their human shield wall when she relayed the message to him. He hmmed in response, saying, "We'll also have to limit deaths on the enemy's side: If too many Bloodless die, they won't have either the resources or the preference to clean up their dead and legally obscure their deaths..."

"And if they don't, we'll have to do it for them, to stop the authorities from digging in and finding us too," she finished, understanding, "And extra work of extra bodies is precisely what we want to avoid. How many deaths do you think they'll handle by themselves?"

"It may be up to twenty, I think. But we'll try to keep it within ten, just to stay safe. Can you get the others to report how many they've killed? Just an estimate. And include serious injuries as well."

She had started before he'd completed. Twenty itself was too few to contain the toll within, especially with unsated high-ranking Fighters in the mix, but she submitted to his judgement. She also sent an order to report the Bloodless' updated positions and to regroup at the perimeter.

The deteriorated industrial building they'd taken over as temporary operations base was picked because it was located so that you'd only see it at the last second, approaching from any direction. The actual supplies and emergency kits were hidden on the second floor, while the guards took the entrances, hiding behind the walls to conk out any intruder.

 _Huh, they've added a tripwire since I left._ She knelt to inspect the rudimentary device and triggered it.

Two of the Deltas she'd assigned guard duty jumped out from behind their covers, noticed it was her tripping the trip wire, and lowered their weapons.

"Tell everyone to get their asses out here. Send the other guards outside, too. Once they are, you two go upstairs and protect the supplies. I don't want sabotage ruining the day."

The Deltas did as was told. She turned to Miranda, and handed her the phone. "Once the positions start coming in, start marking them on a map. If you see any Member except our personal guards, set them to form a uniform, continuous circle around the Bloodless, and wait for further orders."

"Why me? Where are you going?" Miranda asked confusedly, though she gave up her own phone in exchange without hesitating.

"Recon," she answered, holding her gun out to one of the Team Two Fighters, prompting an exchange of her casual one for his larger weapon, "We'll be on a nearby building."

Percy looked up. "I'm assuming that's me. You want to finalise the shape, right?" He followed her example and exchanged his pistol for an semiautomatic. "Let's go spy."

* * *

"Well this is convenient."

"You know, you should be more thankful than that," she said, settling down beside him on the roof and rooting through her backpack for binoculars. _Should've dumped the rest of this junk with the supplies..._

"I _am_ thankful that we've got _such_ a great view while _still_ having places to take cover. I'm just too tired to let it show. Being enthusiastic takes energy, you know. That sentence alone cost me upward of fifty calories more than a normal statement."

"Now I'm confused," she began lightly, "you said that day that you were more athletic than Miranda, who is fairly fit herself. Your body confirms that you weren't lying. All we did was run two times. How can you be tired?" She levelled a fake skeptical look at him, pausing in her search, even though she knew his 'I'm tired,' had clearly been sarcasm.

He looked at her and through her, then at the light blue full-sleeved T-shirt he was wearing. "Observation One: My clothes are currently hiding every sign that can indicate my athleticism. Observation Two: You have somehow confirmed my athleticism using my body. Conclusion: Either you've been stealing glances at me or you've _felt_ it yourself that one time that I accidentally passed out at the Compound. I have mixed feelings about that last one, but if—"

" _Shut up._ " She turned back to her gear and continued her search. Her mind roared with what he'd insinuated, but she knew he was just teasing and as such tried to calm herself down. "I just saw you training. I was taking my gun to Jake for regular maintenance last week when I heard you and Ethan sparring. You've improved a lot in a short span."

"I'm always hungry for new information. I like to know," was his serious response.

"I'm sure a Gamma had lots to teach," she said, just to make conversation.

"Yeah... thanks to those sessions, I know more about the _beauty_ of cocaine than I'd ever want to."

She found the binoculars and closed the bag. "Surprisingly, I'm not as sympathetic as you probably want. Now, tell me what areas you want to explore. Do you have any pre-ideas?"

She could _feel_ him turn serious, as if changing his skin. "Well, I've got vaguest outline of a plan. First, we'll have to see if we can find out where their vehicles are, then push the Bloodless towards them. We want to provide them as much incentive to escape as we can. If we can't, or if anywhere in the plan they're not willing, we will have to press them away from the original warehouse and get Zack and the others out. Once we have them, we can just escape without driving the Bloodless away."

"Yes, let's try to minimise warfare. This is gonna be bloody enough as is."

"Let's hope not. You and I are gonna be in the main charge to drive them towards their escape."

She had taken out Miranda's phone to text her the new orders. She noticed the wallpaper the other girl hadn't changed since her Traitorisation. She had a flashback to Percy's, and blurted out, "Hey, do you remember when you were Traitorised?"

He stopped fiddling with the binoculars' focus range and looked at her quizzically. "You mean that time I was bound up and you interrogated me, thinking I'd betrayed the Society? There's a name for it?"

"Yes there is," she answered, not exactly understanding why she was saying what she was but still persisting, "I browsed through the data in your phone as a part of the procedure, and I just have to tell you—you're the worst emo ever. I mean, that poetry? It doesn't line up with your image at all."

"Is this really the time to discuss my inability to act as melodramatic as I feel and let out in my writings?"

"No, it's not," she said, realising how wrong the time really was, and then thought up an explanation for blurting what she did. "I just said that because if I die with my last words being 'You're the worst emo ever,' I'll give you the Zack Wildes Special Afterlife Treatment. Hopefully it gives you a reason to keep me safe in your plans."

He smiled sardonically, muttering, "As if I needed one..."

"What?" She hadn't heard his murmured words. "Speak louder if you're talking to me."

"I _said_ ," he spoke petulantly, loudly, "you've already spoken new words after those. Those aren't gonna be your last words, Kira."

She had an answer for that. "I'm gonna say it again and again every few minutes that I'm alive. You'll see: If I die today and because of you, those _will_ be my last words. Here— You're the worst emo ever."

"God, you're annoying," he said, though he was grinning faintly.

She smirked, invisible to him, as she said, "Just use the binoculars and see if there's anything helpful in the terrain." She went back to typing the orders.

As she waited for a confirmation after sending her command, her eyes fell on him. He was concentrating on a single spot through the binoculars. Gaze falling a little, she noticed he was worrying his lower lip. Which, if she assumed it to be a nervous trait, explained why his lips were so often in that _slightly_ -chapped state, even when the weather couldn't have been a cause.

He pulled the instrument away from his eyes and squinted in the same general direction, as if his squinted eyes could see better than the high-quality optics. _Idiot,_ she felt herself smile, grateful that her masks were covering it. He looked through the instrument again, but only for a second this time before handing it to her.

"You won't believe this." He was staring and pointing at the place that has captured his attention as his hand and the binoculars wandered towards her slowly, the shock evident in his body language. "There's a whole fleet of vehicles in plain sight. And crates, lots of them. There's probably three days' supply of weapons in there!"

She caught his hand just before it could collide into her chest and make things extremely awkward. And as she took the instrument (and pushed his hand back gently, to avoid drawing attention to what has almost happened), the meaning hit her. _We can't scare them away because their point of escape is their point of replenishment!_ She used the binoculars herself and felt dismay flood her. _What are we gonna do?_

She posed him the question that she'd asked herself. He didn't disappoint. After only five minutes of internal deliberation, he said, "Order all Fighters to fire at the Bloodless, but not to kill. Show the Bloodless that we're all around them and safe. Specifically, show them that we've escaped and that _we're not inside their perimeter_. Then, call the police, and make it clear to _them_ that we're calling the police."

"Zack and the others?"

"The brutes we left will guard them. The Bloodless will have to go back to their base to avoid incarceration, since they can't hide all their dozens and the supplies. Zack and the others with him will stay where they are: No cop will check all the warehouses. We can rescue them later."

"Brilliant," she said, realising again his efficiency, "The larger part of our troops will be back at the Compound by then, and the ones in here will be hard to spot, and so only the Bloodless with their cumbersome equipment will be in danger."

He shifted back to his nonchalant self then, saying, "Danger that's extremely improbable to actually manifest, yes. It's the possibility that matters. It's the possibility that scares."

And even though he'd implied nothing of it, her thoughts went to the _something_ that was unfolding between them. _Exactly why I need to pull back._

* * *


	17. Pink IV

* * *

Piper was enjoying herself, if she was completely honest.

Though there were a few parameters she hadn't yet flattened out fully, and it was quite a risk to try seduction without knowing everything, she wasn't bothered by it at all. After so many days of monotonously playing the rather plain role of innocent damsel for the detectives investigating her mother's murder, uncertainty was very much welcome. She had practically breezed through her neutral intro (Jason had proved to be a man of simple tastes), and her execution had been flawless. It was a fairly rare act she'd selected for him, and so _that_ wasn't monotonous at all.

Besides, all things that would've caused any other person unease were only more strategy games for her.

She was seated at a central table in a restaurant whose mood was casual, waiting for Jason. She'd already confirmed the effects of her appearance on several nearby male and female subjects, and was pretty sure that Jason was going to salivate upon seeing her, at least metaphorically.

Piper had also thought about the stage two of her plan. It wasn't exactly necessary to get BDSMed by the Alpha, she'd concluded, though that approach would be prudent. Still, if Mr D would allow it, she could corner Jason, threaten him and extract all the information was needed. Granted, in doing so she'd blow her just-a-weak-Kappa-Aid cover to the Alpha and so to all the Members, but it _was_ an option.

 _Or maybe I won't have to face any problems. Who knows, a threatened Alpha may function better for Mr D. And letting out my secret can possibly make me more dangerous,_ had been her first thought when she'd thought of the alternative plan, but then she realised, _But the fact will still remain that drawing attention to myself would increase the risk of the alias failing... No, I can't let myself be discovered. This is a really bad time for me to get blackmailed._

She was thinking about possible ways to avoid her cover be blown when fingers were snapped in front of her face. She turned around quickly to face the person calling for her attention, her hand creeping toward her miniature distress signal, just in case it was an enemy.

But the concern lasted less than a second. She saw it was Jason who'd snapped to get her attention, and hand slid back as she tilted her head up to see him. A part of her registered his gaze shifting and realised the show he was getting ( _There's a lot more in store for you—don't worry, darling._ ), while the major portion was recapping her tactics and procuring a response.

"Hello," she said, slightly repositioning herself for his benefit, "Finally here?"

He grinned, clearly struggling to keep eyes pointed on the correct part of her body. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

She suppressed a smirk, thinking, _No, you aren't sorry. This was only a power move to show Katherine Hill how busy you are and how much control you have in this duo._ Their first 'date', he'd been normal but ensnaring, and the second time he'd cancelled twice before agreeing to the present one. _You're trying to train the bimbo in front of you, and since I'm here to please you, I will be trained._

She straightened herself again and nodded at his chair. "Come, sit. With all your tedious Alpha work, it's a miracle you get time to spend with me."

"I almost postponed today's meeting, too," he said, walking over to the other side of the table and taking his seat, "But then I thought about how I cancelled last time too, and before that. Today's schedule wasn't cluttered by important stuff—just a weekly territorial inspection—so I made time for you instead of the others."

"Inspection?" Piper made herself gasp, "If that's _not_ important, what was the agenda for which you cancelled the last two times?"

He glanced once around them, then whispered, "The first time was a recruitment drive, and the second time, I was meeting with the boss of the Glenwood Guns. Diplomatic talks and a few minor deals."

More surprise, a dropped jaw, speechlessness. "You— I keep calling you Alpha in my head, and have a general idea that you're powerful, but I often forget _how much_ , and it's so humbling: You hold that much power and are entrusted so many duties and yet you are so polite and _good_. It's unbelievable! I don't know anybody else who could act as you do in your position for any period of time."

"It is difficult," he agreed, trying and failing to mask his smugness, "Dealing with the dark, _appeasing_ the dark, while staying as light as you can let yourself be, it's... a struggle, and not one I particularly enjoy. Sometimes I wish things shrunk back down to when I was a Gamma—or even an Epsilon. Just Annabeth and me, and a few close friends. Yes, sometimes I wish for a quieter rank, a quieter life."

It was a lie. Anyone with even _half_ her brain could see that. _Power and Sadism are two drugs whose withdrawals will leave you insane. Once you're in, you can't_ _and_ shouldn't _look back._ "You really shouldn't wish for a simpler life. I mean, I know how burdened you are, and it's only rational for anybody to want an easier life. But if things rewound back to when you were a Gamma only, we'd be stuck with Luke Castellan. No one wants that."

And despite all the lies she was telling, that last sentence, at least, was true. _A snake who lies his way up and hides his nature is extremely preferable to a bull who rampages his way up and behaves like he's in a china shop... at least where the mortality rate is concerned._

"Besides," she added, "if you were still a Gamma, we'd never have met."

"You make good points." He gave her a lopsided grin. They paused the conversation to order. When the waiter took their orders, Piper noted they'd both selected dishes to perfectly match the image each wanted to project: His was grounded-mature-'manly' while hers was spoiled-shameless-princess. If they had really been the people they were pretending to be, it would have been a great slice-of-life movie.

As it was, their movie would be more like a political drama.

"The Glenwood Guns, were they difficult during your meeting?"

He shook his head. "They're relatively rational, and thus scared. Luke's reign of destruction has some benefits. The current victories also help, though they're seriously dwarfed in grandeur by Castellan's. Most other groups—gangs, cults, clubs—know first- or second-hand how powerful our Fighters are. Few want to try themselves against us."

"What recent victory? I thought it's been peace since you rose to power."

Another shake of the head, and he smiled faintly. Piper could see that it was forced. "Don't you know about yesterday's gunfight?" he asked, "Huge rescue operation, thirty-something Fighters surrounded by a hundred Bloodless members in an industrial lot in Yellowmine. Thirty other Fighters went in, rescued the trapped ones, and scared off the Bloodless, all with only six deaths or serious injuries. And I did not even have to step in: Lupa, Chiron and the Betas handled all of it."

 _That explains it. Jason dear is pissed that they did not involve him or ask for permission. And he's pissed that I had him explain it._ The clenched jaw that he probably didn't even notice himself, the way he was tapping his fingers on the table, as if playing a piano, the slightly narrowed eyes, all were clear signs that he didn't like the subtopic they'd detoured to.

"They must have been in a rush. The message came at the last minute, didn't it? They mustn't have had time too confirm with you. After all, it was their friends that were trapped. The Betas clearly weren't in the right mindset, and probably misjudged you wouldn't care about it as much as them. You can't blame them: Sharing a rank is practically blood-relation in the slow-moving middle-high levels."

Okay, maybe she dropped the dumb, starry-eyed bimbo act completely for a minute. But it was a calculated risk. She had to bring him back to Seduction-ville, and he wasn't paying as much attention to the source of the words as the words themselves. And, as expected, he took the bait.

She'd chosen the words to be soothing on a primary level, as well as subtle references that only his subconscious would catch and love, like categorising the Betas with the crowd, not as elites, and disregarding the adults who were unofficially on his own level of authority.

"You're right. Sentiments tend to get the best of weaker things. I won't blame them for miscalculating what I could bring to the table. My friends were in there too, you know; I would have cared. And I'm self-aware enough to know I'd be more level-headed during the operation then any of them."

Piper saw the opportunity to slide back into her act, and took it. She placed a hand on her chest, mostly to recenter his attention: She wasn't going to let her efforts in dressing so implicitly go to waste. " _I_ , for one, trust you with my life. And, except for the rare ungrateful jerk, I think I speak for everyone who's ever met you and seen how good you are at being good."

"I do hope so." His eyes fell for a long minute. To encourage him, she pretended as if she hadn't realised at all where his gaze had shifted. She was just observing their surroundings. A perfect naive morsel in front of a wolf.

Through a few well-placed polished objects, she saw his mouth opening, about to speak, when there was a thump close-by. The food arrived.

Over the first half of them eating their food, Piper told him about her family. Not the truth, of course, but fleshing out Katherine Hill with a background and origin story hadn't been just a show of skill for Mr D to test her by—It also enforced a consistent lie. Her backstory was quite elaborate, even though it boiled down to a modern version of _Cinderella_. (Her job description was to be attractive, not original.)

Through some strategically timed deep breaths, a few over-the-top gestures, and a whole bunch of adorable/hot expressions, she managed to keep Jason from interrupting her without getting bored. When she was done, Piper prompted him to share his story.

He was somewhere between not-excited and unwilling to speak about his family. Since she'd gone through his family records and spent hours watching his interactions at home, she knew exactly why he was reluctant. But she needed a measure of how far her plan had progressed, so she prodded at him lightly, cloaking her nudges strongly.

He did open up. "What happened is basically this: My father stole me from my mother for some reason, but didn't bother with claiming me as his own. I am usually ignored in my own home. But, due to his general neglect towards things not involving money, fame or goodwill of the public, his legal children are no less ignored. So, technically, he raised me as his own.

"The only difference is that my stepmother loves to lob verbal barbs at me. And that one of my brothers gets a high from beating me bloody. And that I'll probably be kicked out as soon as I'm an adult. Nothing much, and nowhere near as tragic as many other Members, or even your own story."

He was back to his default, propaganda mode. She let him. "Why don't you report him, try to find your mom?" she said, with a lot more emotion than she'd thought she could pull off, "I'm sure she'll be more than happy to see you again, and she'll definitely treat you better than those monsters."

"He's threatened to get criminal records on me and to kill her, Cat. That's like Villainy 101."

"Of course, I wasn't thinking—I just thought that was an original idea and thought it could help you..." Piper conjured a bashful smile on Katherine Hill.

"I know. And I love you for it, but have some faith in my intelligence, will you?" He grinned, bringing the mood back to light. "I'm not a Brain, but I haven't got the rank by virtue of beauty alone."

"Exactly. You're not a pre-modern Disney princess, are you?" _Though, to tell the truth, you_ are _almost one: Blond, pretty, easily tricked, having some sort of powerful position or magic, and with less rationale and brains than people think. The only things you're short on are a happily-ever-after and a love-interest._ And _you're also short on morals, compassion, good karma, and the like, but whatever._

* * *

"My dear temptress, how are you?" Rapunzel said from on the screen, smiling.

"I'm fine, Rapunzel." Piper replied, "But maybe drop the animation?"

The video changed abruptly to Mr D sitting semi-casually in a plush chair. He was wearing a really loud outfit and he held a glass of clear liquid. "Agreed. Tell me, how was it when Jamie told you that your employer is me? I hope you know I orchestrated it all."

"If you want me to say it was a moment of gratefulness and awe, you'll be disappointed. I came very close to dropping the Katherine Hill act due to shock is what happened. Thanks for that. I felt so stupid: I'd always thought my boss was a outside person whom you had just put in touch with me."

"Well, it was just to make sure you won't take any rash steps betting that I would save you from the consequences since you were an asset. Moreover, I did not want to risk getting exposed if you were caught and tortured. I'm sure you'll agree with the logic." He gave her a one-shouldered, lazy shrug, sipping his drink.

"I can find no fault with that," Piper agreed.

"I know you won't, because of how indebted to me you are." He placed his glass someplace off-screen, and clapped his hands, leaving forward. "Oh, Ms McLean! Our first meeting since James Grayson became an Alpha and you got a new assignment, and so much has already changed. You've graduated—congratulations on that, by the way: You are now a temptress _and_ a murderess! That is good news indeed."

Seeing his enthusiasm made her backtrack. _Is he going to assign me murders now?!_ "Mr D, I don't think I'm capable of handling assassinations yet. I know I killed two and I've caused the deaths of many indirectly, but I'm still lacking the m—"

He cut her off, showing his palms in a 'stop taking' gesture. "Don't worry, dear. I have other people for violent, tortuous _and_ subtle murders. You don't need to join their numbers. Your skills—truly more valuable than those assassins' techniques—are unique to the extent that I've had only two of your kind before, and only one of them stepped out of the job unhurt and undead."

Piper shifted in her seat, uncomfortable receiving the compliments, glad that she was alone in Mr D's royal screen room. She wasn't accustomed to Mr D (even though previously in Rapunzel avatar) praising her.

Piper made a mental note to find about the other two seductresses, and changed the topic. "I've contacted you today for two reasons. The first is to thank you for responding to my request to provide a cover up to my kills. I hope I'll be able to make up for such a sudden and large request."

"Accepted. I'll make sure you make up for it."

The tone he said it in was causal, almost as if he were brushing her thanks off. But the words were grim, and though Piper spoke directly after, the meaning came to her when she'd already said the first few words. "Thanks once again. My other reason was to—again, hopefully—start to make up for it. About the mission you gave me the last time we met, the day Jason Grace became Alpha and bumped into me first. I've successfully gotten access to video-feeds of his home and confirmed that he believes my act—an innocent girl who doesn't know to stay away from monsters and behaves completely imprudently—perfectly and doesn't suspect anything.

"Forward from here, I can use my original plan to grow close to him as his toy and cling to him to discern his motivations and weaknesses. It is the path of least damage.

"Alternatively, I can follow the path of least _time_ and simply draw him to a decided location and essentially Traitorise him. I can keep a low-ranking Fighter in a strategic position nearby so Jason won't kill me, and extract all the info I need. It will also be a scare tactic, since even though he would know the danger in me after that, he will always be on edge when dealing with other seemingly innocent Members, thinking they're yours.

"Of course, showing my cards to the Alpha is inevitably same as broadcasting to the entire Society that I'm dangerous, which will attract attention, which will end up revealing my identity, but I can, by your permission, move to another city and join the Society there. In the wake of the murders, it won't be strange if Dad and I change cities to get away from the grief. It's more than feasible, and many times better than the ordinal one. _If_ you prefer a scared Alpha instead of a naive Alpha, that is."

"You've given this a lot of thought," he said when she'd finished her monologue, "I hope it did not come at the expense of delaying the current plan."

"It hasn't," she assured him, "I haven't interrupted the ongoing plan at all. All thinking of this new plan has been during the _necessary_ delays which I placed there so I wouldn't seem too eager or suspicious."

"I would prefer a scared Alpha very much...," he said slowly, thinking, "As I'm sure you know by now, he is inherently volatile. The only way I can be sure he won't try to lash back like Lucian is to pressure him and see how he reacts to it. Yes, I would very much like it if you scared our dear John to near-death. Scare him, show him my power, and then extract all the information I need. I'll have Leneus choose a new city for you.

"Fine, Ms Hill, you can choose that plan. Do not disappoint me. Choose a Fighter of rank Tau or lower, maybe train a little and study mild torture. You have Emily's phone number—send me the execution date you're comfortable with. Bring me Jake's innards and I'll see to it that you enjoy your next city more."

* * *


	18. Silver I

* * *

Thalia did not hope that the signs of her emotional stress didn't show: It was obviously visible how wrecked she felt. No, she just hoped that she wouldn't have to face any low ranker, because she didn't know what that would trigger. Thankfully, she did not find out.

When she reached the throne room, Rita and Cress were guarding it and Lady Artemis. After a brief glance at her expression, post which Cress' face showed sympathy and Rita's indifference, they allowed her in. Artemis was reading some reports; She stopped when Thalia bowed her head and positioned herself stiffly in front of her queen.

"Aren't you missing Allocation, Thalia?" Artemis asked, not harshly.

"I am, my lady. I've placed a representative," Thalia answered, "There... There is a more pressing matter."

"The leak, I presume. What developments?"

"We've found out how much data has been leaked. My queen...," she hesitated, "It's a little more than sixty percent. And most of it was high-risk: Personal records, bank details, crypto details. It took us so long to find out what they'd stolen because they were smart. They made it look like none of the data had been copied."

"I trust you've started scrambling our accounts already?"

"The girls in Accounts are finishing with it right now," she reported obediently.

Artemis' mask slipped then, and her concern surfaced. "Then why are you so on edge, Thalia?" she asked softly, "We anticipated this would happen some day, we prepared for it. Some other gang would have discovered us sooner or later, no matter how much care we'd taken. What is distressing you?"

Thalia forgot herself for a moment, primed for anger as she was. "The girls, Artemis! We promised them we'd keep them safe, and now their personal information has been leaked to people that are surely of evil intent. Their lives can turn back to abuse! We can't protect them, we're—!" The words died on her tongue: She caught herself and hung her head in shame at her outburst.

Artemis wasn't angry though. "I know, Thalia," she said understandingly, "and it worries me too. These girls we promised to empower, and their lives are very possibly back to torment. It's eating at me, too. However, a position of power prohibits you from emoting fear. And so I don't, and so you shouldn't."

"I just— I won't be able to live with myself if one of them was abused again. I can't let that happen. I know we can't save everybody and I know we've left many unrescued at our best. I know we don't have the power to keep them safe, but I beg you—at least let me try."

"You know my answer. I will never deny my girls any good I can afford. You will get command of the reserve task force. Twenty operatives is far less than I can spare, and I _will_ increase the numbers you get to handle, but only after you give me an efficient model of allocations of those twenty first. Set up a good patrol and all-day rescue system for our low ranking sisters using the RTF, _then_ I'll give you more so you can do it better."

That was more than she'd expected: In her panic Thalia had foolishly forgotten Artemis cared just as much as she herself did. "I understand my lady. These are desperate times."

"Tell me, what new information has been uncovered? The only report I got was just a 'They're smart,' from Iris, and I haven't seen her since. Do you have anything to add to that?"

"Yes, my lady. The 'report' Iris gave was about their methods of getting into our systems. It was a normal hack in all respects but one. They did not take any precaution to hide long-term. Our security software couldn't catch them in the act, but the routine systems check caught it easily. The sacrificed cover for time."

"I assume that was because our security is very near perfect. Continue."

"We got clear images of them exiting the place from where they'd entered the system. A boy and a girl. Very nicely hidden. We had to check every face three times and were on our fourth cycle when we found out they were the ones using a disguise. Which made some of the girls in Intel question whether we could even trust their heights and body structure to be the same? The answer is we can't. But it does place a lower bound on their heights and bulk."

The Queen nodded. "Further?"

"That's—That's all. We tracked the cab they escaped in, first to a ice-cream place—presumably to catch any tails—and then to another nondescript place, but it was obviously a distraction. They did not emerge from the location, implying a change of disguise. The girl was carrying a backpack before, but nobody came out of their last destination wearing anything resembling it. Even small accessories were checked for, but we got nothing. The device was untraceable."

"A dire situation. Let us focus on damage control Thalia: Create a effective network to protect the most vulnerable Amazons, keep track of all possible channels the enemy may use to threaten us, and prepare for a reconnaissance mission next week, in the area the boy and the girl were last visible in. But stay as nonviolent as you can: The Evac is our primary concern. If it is a success, _then_ we worry about enemies."

* * *

Thalia and her team were on the second round when she heard the bickering. Since her rank was Advisor, one step below Queen, Thalia got to decide the nature of her assignment. And her choice was rarely anything other than Rescue. While she was talking with Artemis, Phoebe—as her stand-in—had been assigned sixteen blocks situated seven north of base.

"I'm just saying, we'd be done with the Evac a lot faster if we put more girls on completing that instead of roaming."

Apparently, her assignment also included a bunch of non-sympathising bitches.

Their street was almost deserted, so the sounds of agreement and protest heard in response to the girl's statement, weren't blowing their cover.

Thalia, and as a consequence the group, came to a stop. She turned around as Phoebe, her loyal, loyal second, began scolding the girl who'd spoken. "The Evac has slowed down _as part of the plan, Mona._ And you don't have the power to change it, so shut up and concentrate on what you've been given!"

Mona looked displeased to have been called out. _Careful, Mona, or she'll run you through and I won't intervene._ Phoebe was starting again, but Thalia interjected before Mona the Junior angered Phoebe the short-tempered Veteran. "I'm curious, Mona," she said lightly, "what did you hear your assignment was? I think Kinzie is pretty good at pronouncing 'rescue'. Did you mistake it for 'roaming', or are you just too holy mighty to remember the rescue part?"

Mona began to defend herself, but Thalia continued. "Let me try to act like you. Your words, I think, were to put your own safety via the Evac before those of the girls we are supposed to be helping on our rounds. Now, if I act like you... Let me think, your rank is significantly lower than what can keep _me_ safe, so you're a liability. I should knock you out, take your clothes and weapons, and leave you in this alley right here. How's that for a plan?"

Four girls other than the one addressed hung their heads. Mona did too, after a second of Thalia's glare. Phoebe had a smug smile on that almost masked her residual rage, and Thalia was about to conclude her speech when they heard a scream from the alley she'd pointed at.

Immediately, the Amazons readied their weapons. The lowest rankers plastered themselves to the nearest wall or other cover as per protocol, while the most experienced ones formed a triangle behind Thalia. She calculated silently and quickly. _Eleven girls excluding me, three Veterans, two Aces. Narrow alley, low foot traffic..._

Making up her mind, she ordered, "All of you, come with me into the alley. Put your guns up but don't fire. Trainees, stay near the entrance." When she was sure they'd heard, Thalia strode into the dark side street.

It was a typical alley scene. Three wild looking men against one ( _Is she ten?!_ ) little brunette girl. One male was leaning against one wall, clutching his shoulder, while the girl was cornered by the other two against the opposite. None of them could see Thalia's group.

Phoebe tapped Thalia's shoulder, asking for permission, obeying the rules even though Thalia knew she was itching to just shoot their brains out. And normally, Thalia would have agreed without hesitating—this was what they were here to do: Save girls who were being abused or beaten—but instinctively she put a hand up to stop the Amazons behind her from shooting.

"Keeping aiming at their heads, but don't shoot..." Suddenly, Thalia saw what her instinct has seen before. The man who was away from the fight was struggling to stand, and his shoulder injury was hurting him badly. The girl was not crying, nor was she trembling.

She looked feral.

With a yell her right foot shot out to hit one of her assailant's knee, and her hands came up to protect her face and torso from counterattacks. The hit landed squarely and the target collapsed. Someone gasped behind Thalia.

The only man standing glanced at his fallen comrades, but didn't hesitate in advancing. The little girl didn't wait for him to come close. She rushed at him in a blur, and all Thalia could see of her was what the man must have been feeling at the same time—nails, fists, elbows and feet.

Once the man was on the ground, the girl jumped on top of him, the heels of her sturdy shoes hitting his abdomen and his sternum simultaneously. A minute later, she'd finished off the others and Thalia couldn't help but blurt, "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

The little girl, just done with her last target and hovering over him, flinched and turned around to face Thalia's group. Clearly, the girl hadn't had any formal training, but her fighting was still refined, if only from experience.

"Relax," Thalia said peaceably, seeing her defensive stance, "I'm Thalia, and not here to hurt you. I just wanted to know where did you learn to fight like that?"

The girl approached them slowly, still wary, growing younger in Thalia's eyes with each step. "I've got three older brothers—"

Thalia held a hand up to cut her off, just as someone behind her said, "God, that's such a cliche." Thalia glared quickly at the group and spoke to the girl. "Don't waste your breath: I know that story. Come on, follow me." She didn't know how to handle children, but all other recruits had understood what she was offering at once, so she used the same speech. "I want to offer something to you, a lot of interesting items and a place you'll get the chance to refine those skills. You wouldn't want to miss these things, just follow us back." The girl was clearly still apprehensive, so Thalia added, "We won't surround you or bind you, so you'll have the chance to run if you feel cheated. I bet you can run really fast."

Thalia waved Phoebe over and gestured to the men, wordlessly telling her to cheek if they were dead, and to help them along if they weren't. The other Amazons began to disperse, with nothing to interest them anymore, but Thalia was waiting for confirmation. The girl looked confused and uncertain. "I can run fast," she agreed, "But one question first, what's a cliche?"

Thalia, who had been expecting her to ask 'Who are you and why should I believe you?', thought for a moment for an easy meaning.

"It means a stereotype," she said finally, "Something... something that's very common, and feels overused. Now, come on, before going to our place and showing you to our leader, we need to search the nearby areas for any girl in your situation and save her if she isn't as strong as you."

"Oh," her expression was still confused, but she appeared to have accepted the invite, so Thalia began towards the main street, checking for stragglers. But the girl was still talking. Whisperingly she said, "But Chester said it's usually the other way around..."

" _What?_ " Thalia asked incredulously, whirling around to face the tiny brunette. The others stopped too.

"I said Chester once told me that it's usually the other way around."

"I heard that. Who's Chester?"

"My brother. The eldest one."

"Back up a little and tell me again who taught you to fight like that?"

Most of the group was back to hear it, and the girl was clearly surprised to have an audience. Still she answered. "I taught myself. Wilson plays first table on the chess team, Chester starts crying every time he listens to a sad song, Dan can really rock a cocktail dress and six-inch heels, and I wasn't going to let anyone give them any shit for any of that. So I had to learn to beat up people bigger than me pretty early on. One time when the fight lasted longer than normal, Chester said that it's usually the other way around, and started crying because he was angry at himself for being a bad brother."

Thalia knelt in front of the girl. Her eyes were wide and a light brown. "How old are you?"

"I'm twelve," she said a little defensively.

Thalia absorbed that with only a little difficulty. "And what's your name, twelve-year-old-girl?"

"Emma," she said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Chester is right. It _is_ usually the other way round. Someone like you is what we want," Thalia smiled, "You know what that means? My offers just got a lot sweeter."

"I don't like sweet things."

"Spicier, then. Or tangier. Whatever you like the most."

The apprehension was back on her face full force, but it was calmer than the first time. "Why... Why are you being so gen-generous? You just met me, and you're offering me things you say I won't refuse. Why?"

"Something you won't understand, kid."

Emma scowled at that, and Thalia backtracked quickly, remembering how she had always hated when adults hid things from her as a child. "It's just that I see in you and your story, a world better than ours, Emma, free of these dystopian diseases. The world that we need and deserve. And the world we must and will try everyday to make our own."

"I... I don't understand."

Thalia bit back the 'Told you so!' on the tip of her tongue, and instead cautiously placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You give me hope that we can become better. That's simpler, right?" Emma nodded once, and Thalia smiled at her. "C'mon, I'll tell you what we do."

* * *

"Enjoyed your trip, Thalia?"

Kinzie was standing at the head of a long table, overseeing her subordinates who were working at the other seats around it. Her head had snapped up as soon Thalia had opened the door, and her grin couldn't be more infuriating to Thalia.

" _You_ made sure I did _not_ , Davis."

Her grin fell at the venom in Thalia's voice. A few of the mice working at the table looked up, alarmed, and went back to their screens once she waved them away.

"What happened? Did they do bad? Were there too many Rookies? Oh my God, did you miss a Damsel because of them? Who was it? _Who was it?_ "

 _Maybe I went a little overboard..._ Thalia regretted her dramatics as she took in Kinzie's concerned reaction. She told the smaller girl to calm down and took here away from the table, out of earshot. "They didn't make me miss a Damsel, Kinzie. I don't _need_ a team to help me save girls. You can assign me the worst Newbies possible, and I give you the right to dump the girls that no one will train on me, but—"

"What's wrong then? What did they do? _Why_ were you so angry?!"

"I was getting to that. As I was saying, you can put the worst Newbie in my team, but absolutely no non-sympathisers. Not even one whiny, proud bitch on my group. I've had enough of them. If it wasn't for the rules I'd have killed them on the way back without hesitation."

Kinzie sputtered. " _WHAT?!_ That _—That_ was your problem? How in God's name does that give you the right to yell at me like that?!"

"I did not yell, Kinzie. And it _is_ a serious problem. And not just for my group: You need to make sure that in each Rescue group, the sympathisers are either the leaders, or at least form more than half the group."

Kinzie laughed disbelievingly. "You expect me to keep track of who cares for Damsels and who doesn't beside the dozen other parameters I have to keep track of? Do you know how hard it is? I already manage _more_ than everything for you unthankful little _shits!_ I don't have time for this crap!"

Thalia's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were a sympathiser. Do you think your workload increasing is _worse_ than girls getting abused while Amazons slack at the job we were _created_ to do? _Do you?_ "

Kinzie stepped back herself and, almost imperceptibly, shrunk a little. Her voice was quieter showing how ashamed she was. "I'm—I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking... I'll do it today itself."

Thalia saw how much it had affected her—Kinzie was a kind soul, deep within her authoritative exterior, and knowing how cruel they were becoming always hurt someone kind. She softened her tone. "It's okay, Kinz. Just, be sure to always remember your origins, as I do mine. It will straighten a lot of decisions for you." She glanced at the Amazons still at the table, working away uninterrupted by their outbursts. "Now, school your face before anyone sees."

Three deep breaths later, Kinzie spoke, "Was there anything else you wanted?"

"I... Yeah. Yeah, I do." She thought about how to word it. "There's... There's a new recruit. I 'rescued' her today. She already good at fighting and I think she'll make a great Amazon. Her name is Emma Dalton, and she's... she's _twelve_. I don't know what to do with her, and you're the youngest girl I know excluding her—even though you're nearer me than her. Can you help me?"

"I will forgive you for calling me a kid," Kinzie said, "But like, what so you want me to help with? What's got you confused?"

"I don't know how to talk to her, train her, or do anything near her. Do I need to not curse near her? Can I hand her weapons and train her like older recruits? Can I explain what we're here to do? Somehow I know she belongs with us, but nothing beyond that. _Everything_ has got me confused!"

Kinzie laughed then. Amusedly, unlike before. "Give a minute to give my second some instructions, then take me to her. I'll teach you how to deal with children."

* * *


	19. Green IV

* * *

Percy was sitting in the edge of his bed, sipping a low-alcohol concoction, waiting for Kira to arrive. The drink tasted okay, which was a huge achievement since he'd prepared it himself, and it didn't make him too wasted to aim. Kira has taken over his weapons training after the Bloodless job, and she'd promised she would slap and kick the alcohol/drugs out of him if he was ever high at her class.

But Kira was late. She was supposed to come to his room over half an hour ago, knock, tell him to stop being lazy and then they'd both skip merrily to the Armory, pick up a few little guns, and she'd teach him how to shoot and kill better.

Calculating that Kira wasn't arriving anytime soon, Percy put down his drink and dug out and opened the book Calypso had given him and flipped to the final paragraphs.

Her writing was elegant and eloquent. It instantly took him back to what seemed like a previous life, with Nico and Calypso and their smiles and jokes and starlight. He missed them terribly...

 _But this isn't the time to think about Calypso and Nico,_ stupid _,_ Percy thought, furious at himself, _Get back to now._ Shaking his head to try and clear it, he turned back to the last paragraphs to be implemented.

' _XLIII. The final step is to check if all this acting is even necessary anymore, to test whether anybody is attached strongly enough to you that you need to pretend any longer. Your parents are, obviously, but paragraphs 6 and 19 already deal with that._

_To test a person for Attachment, act suicidal in front of them. If the target talks to you about suicide or weird behavior, get rid of them. Then you can be you, or even me, if you've managed that yet._

_All of this is moot, of course, if you get friends as close to you as Nico and me. Then—if they're sociopaths too, you can work together to plan more, or if they're more human than us, you can get their help in trying to conduct yourself_.'

Sound planning was something he loved. And the fact that she had the foresight to plan so many years ahead, even in the midst of her own problems. He'd always known she was brilliant, but it never surprised him any less so many years later. He continued reading.

' _XLIV. If, by the time you read this, you've found my successor, tell her about me if you haven't already. Be sure not to compare, nor judge or whine or wish. And if you haven't yet found my successor... getting to working, Perseus! You aren't as immortal as you like to think! I'll be waiting here to torture you if you don't try and find someone to love._'

Percy believed she would. Calypso was resourceful enough to find a way to leave heaven to find him in hell and take over the position to torture him from whichever monster. The thought was as horrible as it was awesome, because he didn't want her to waste her time on him, but he also didn't want her to be so far away for forever.

_First things first, Attachment. No one's actually that close to me. Grover tries but he's shallow and I'll dump him easily._ _19A will easily push away Mom and Paul. Forty-three is almost too easy._

The successor thing, on the other hand, was more complex. He was halfway through it yet hadn't even started. Percy closed the notebook and fell onto his bed, folding his arms over the book and his chest. The debate in his head was four-sided:

(1) "Dude, I can't think of any reason to risk the chance that this ends just like last time,"  
(2) "You are Calypso's,"  
(3) "You are a piece of shit," and  
(4) "Please-please-please I want someone to care please-please-please I want me to heal please-please-please..."

After a little deliberation, Percy decided 1 was rational enough to consider, and 2 he banished after 4 reasoned that "Calypso herself is telling you to get a life." A little more thought and 1 and 3 overpowered 4, but even in defeat 4 didn't quit begging and whining and making puppy-dog faces.

Percy accepted 3's reasoning wholeheartedly, but 4 convinced 3 that if he wasn't quite as horrible a piece of shit as he believed he was, he would, for Calypso's sake at least, try his best. He knew he had been a monster, but Hope never cared about how impossible it was.

Recognising and dreading the direction his thoughts were going in, Percy took a short break and decided to call his teacher.

"Dear Kira," he said as the call connected.

"Knock knock," she said.

"I will assume you aren't trying to initiate a joke right now."

"I'm not telling a joke, but I'm also not at your door."

"Well then, why aren't you here, and how long will you take?"

"I never said I'd be there, I said I'd knock. And I have knocked, just like every other time."

"Jokes _really_ don't suit you, Kira, you leave those to me."

Kira laughed. "Listen, I'll be there in a minute. Just got some last minute work. You know how Lupa is."

Percy did know how Lupa was, and he told her so, and then hung up. He went back to the book and its final paragraphs. He still hadn't checked for hidden meanings yet.

Within the text were often encrypted messages that Calypso had thought too sensitive to write plainly. Singles it was a weird tone, other times it was an encoded message. He'd reluctantly learned that there were things more dangerous than his sociopathy and her genius and their love.

He couldn't catch any outright code at first glance, and he _really_ wasn't in the correct state of mind to catch subtle nudges, so he decided to first Python for codes and later try to calm down and read deeper.

He was almost done with the coding when there was a knock. He opened the door and returned to the program. Kira entered and leant against a wall, silent and watching. He clicked a few photos of the last two paragraphs, selected the database to use, aligned the APIs. The screen faded to black and a progress-bar appeared.

"Done," Percy announced. Turning around, he saw Kira staring into infinity with some thought muddling her eyes. Her face was masked as always, but he'd learned to read her eyes. "Let's go, I'm done," he repeated.

She was quick to reorient herself. "No intoxicants," she reminded him.

"Nope. You've told me _very_ strongly what you'd do to me if I was high, and unlike the others I know it's nowhere as hot to get beaten up by you."

"The others? You mean there are boys here that would like me to hit them to paralysis?"

"And a few girls. But don't worry, only a few are machoists. Most are idiots."

"I don't think I want any more information on that," she said, shaking her head slowly as if expressing her disappointment in all of humanity, "Anyway, we've wasted enough time; Let's finally start today."

She led him out and most of the way, which wasn't very far. Beta quarters were prime locations—either the most quiet and isolated, or the most central. On Kira's suggestion he'd chosen a central-ish room to be converted into his, since he was still figuring out his behavior and projection. To be safe, he'd made sure he could move to another one any time.

They were silent for the entirety of the short walk. Jake Cahill greeted them as they passed him, and swept his hand casually toward the entrance to the fighting area. "All yours."

"What are we doing today?" Percy asked when they were inside.

"Something new," Kira said as they started converting the normally empty area to a shooting range, "Your skill on the 87T is about as high as it can get with only teaching, and G20.6 is the same, so we'll start generalising techniques now. C'mon, let's set this up"

He voiced his agreement and they began converting the room into a shooting range. He drew out the lane separators while she set up the target carriers. It wasn't particularly hard to work with Kira, she was quiet malleable when she liked to be. They talked without words, aligning the targets and adjusting the bullet trap. He was unlatching the false ceiling to uncover the baffles and Kira was testing the retrievals when they heard a loud, echoing thud. Kira nodded her head toward the door and Percy went to check on it.

The door opened to a plain steel wall.

"What's this? Did you order this? Did someone close us in here?"

"What's what?" Kira left her own spot by the firing area to come to him. Her eyes widened on seeing the metal sealing them in. "I know what that is, but... why would someone—"

"This is a siege drill," Jason Grace said from above them, cutting her off through some hidden speakers, "All Members are to stay in their current zones, which should be easy, seeing as you can't really dig through six inches of steel. And for the snarky Brains in the labs who want to say, 'I can, because I have a tool to do that,' I _order_ you to remain in your current zone. This lockdown can last up to three hours, so get cosy. If you have an urgent need to get out of the Compound before that... tough luck."

Percy stared at the vault door in disbelief. "A siege drill?"

"Yes," Kira answered, her voice light, unfocused, "a siege drill. If the Compound is predicted to be in danger from nonauthority enemies, a lockdown is executed to protect the resources and Members till Mr D sends reinforcements or negotiates our release. This is a trial run of that."

"So we're enacting a scenario. But _three hours?_ "

She nodded. "Three hours is what is confusing. We haven't had a siege drill since before Castellan, because he believed they were a waste of time. But even then, it was never three hours. It's unrealistic. There will never be a real siege for three hours because by two hours they'll have enough bombs set up to blow us all up!"

In the lull that followed, Percy realised they hadn't yet gotten the guns from Jake. "Great! We're trapped in a shooting range with no guns! What a wonderful way to spend time. I even left my phones back at my room!"

He wanted to punch something, and was about to, when Kira said while looking around, "Disassemble and put everything back. We'll spar instead."

His head snapped to her. "What do you mean? We have no weapons, and I'm literally null-zero-hopeless in a fistfight."

"We have weapons," Kira said, "I have weapons."

She did not speak another word till the fighting room was restored, even though he did his best to pester her: 'What weapons?', 'How many?', 'We don't have our outfits on!', and 'Why aren't you answering?'.

Once the last item was put back into the cabinet, Kira quietly walked to the center, searched for something, found that something, and pulled up a section of the floor.

The floor was noise- and impact-absorbing hard rubber, and it had seemed contiguous to Percy, uniform black with tiny ridges to absorb sound. But no, there was a panel, and under it was a small compartment. Which contained the training outfits.

"This is an auxiliary storage, in case too many fights occur in the same period. They're assorted, so we'll have to search for our sizes, but we got the outfits."

"And the changing...? We're trapped in here."

"We're trapped in here, but that is a double-edged sword. No, we can't go into another room and change our clothes. We'll have to do it here. _But_ this is a large room, so you can go into the opposite corner and face away, and should you dare to try and peek, I can safely torture you to death without anyone interrupting. Isn't that nice?"

Percy made the executive decision to move onto his next question. "...What about the weapons?"

"I have daggers on me," she said, and proceeded to prove her point. Two blades in each shoe (one wedged in the sole and another against her ankle), one in each sleeve, two sheathed against the inside of the back of her jacket, and _three_ at her waist. She arrayed them in her hands, in the very cliche knife pose.

"I... I'm guessing there are even more which you aren't telling me about, because you want to keep yourself safe?"

"Five or six more, yeah." She was grinning behind the masks, he was sure of it.

There weren't words strong enough to express his disbelief. "How— How can you _walk_ with that much weigh, Kira? _How?!_ And what do you mean five or six? It's either five _or_ six, damnit, you put the daggers there, you should know!" He threw his hands up.

Kira set down her knives and arranged them on the floor by their feet. "Heard of obscurement?"

"You're dangerous enough without suspense, goddamnit! You don't need obscuring!"

"Glad you think that. Now go to the corner, you're on a timeout."

The corner of his mouth twitched, threatening to break into a grin, but he controlled it and went to the corner. Kira closed the door, announcing that it was so they wouldn't be caught by surprise when the siege drill ended.

Percy had no intention of breaking the singular rule she'd set. Firstly, she was correct about her being capable of torturing him to death in case of her displeasure. Even if he got a weapon he didn't think he could face her down when she was enraged. Secondly, it would be futile. He had a feeling that the _smallest_ peep would be caught, and any peep that was caught would be cut short by maybe one or two knives in his eyes. But most importantly, he'd seen a lot of girl-skin in his life, and the few extra seconds he'd get wouldn't be anywhere near worth the pain. Admittedly, Kira's case was nonnormal, but he did value his life somewhat. And he wanted to make a good impression. _That_ was the most important of the most important reason.

The corner, Percy saw, wasn't a right angle. The designer had plugged the actual corner with an irregular curve to further reduce the noise leaking out. He studied the corner-not-a-corner, and tried to distract himself from thinking about Kira behind him. Shooting a bullet into the corner would be a nice experiment. He'd have to check out what curve the designer had used. Maybe one of the long-time Brains would know.

He was thinking about what Kira would use to draw her attention away from _him_ changing behind _her_ (and whether she would even need a distraction) when she declared she was done. He turned around and, not looking her in the eye to make the entire changing-clothes-while-alone-together business less awkward, took his clothes, went back to his 'timeout corner', and changed.

No one spoke for a while, no one look at the other for a while. Only after they'd both selected their weapons and taken their stances, did their gazes meet again. He spoke first. "So, what is this gonna be? Training or spar?"

Thankfully, it functioned well as an icebreaker. "I'm thinking spar first. I'll have to see what Nakamura taught you before I can start teaching you. Guns were okay because you didn't know all that much anyway. This is different.

"One rule, though: We'll have to be light on the blades. We don't have supplies to deal with seventeen-inch bleeds—I only allowed daggers because you said you're not great in a fistfight. You can use the daggers, but remember to use an equal amount of hand-and-foot, too, so that we don't get too aggressive with cuts and stabs. Punches and kicks are sometimes worse, granted, but they can be avoided and constrained far more easily."

"Got it. Go a little easy—Whoa!" Percy jumped back as Kira tried to sweep out his legs from under him. "I'm literally saying go easy on me!"

"Can't hear you," Kira replied like a smartass. She rushed him, and he took a few long steps backwards, measuring up what parts of her were allowed and what parts he could reach. To get out of his more urgent problem, he tried the usual bull-feint and moved out of her charge at the last second... But she had clearly anticipated it, and was ready: Just as his weight shifted to move aside, the butt of her knife hit his collarbone, _hard._

With his imbalance and under her force, he fell and tumbled. He came to a stop after a single roll and got up, Kira took a few seconds more to right herself. He let her come to him. When she was in range, he lunged at her with an wild stab at her midsection with his left hand, fully counting on her to evade it or parry it away.

She did. Kira spun around and tried another sweep, at his right foot then, faster and stronger than before. Thankfully, his shoes, the floor and his stance helped him keep his ground. _Thank God she didn't aim higher, that much force could have broken my leg bones!_

She stumbled backward from the reaction to her own massive momentum, he twisted his wrist and the blade tore her skin.

Or so he thought for a moment of panic. Kira must've sucked in her stomach, because she didn't bleed out cry out. The knife had only slashed her tshirt and revealed a step of skin. They both stepped back, buying time. Percy shrugged the shoulder she'd hit to test it. It was fine-ish.

"That was too close, Percy," Kira panted, "That was exactly the type of injury we are trying to avoid, you need to calm down. And _how are you immovable?_ "

He grinned cheekily just because. "I've got a swimmer's body. But you did made me fall the first time, and that was just a nudge."

"It was more then just a nudge for me," Kira said, shaking and stretching her arms, "And... I thought swimmers were supposed to be light?"

"Not me apparently." He shrugged. "It's probably the burden of all this awesomeness."

Kira snorted and beckoned him to charge. He leapt for a high kick, and so they started again. The second burst of their fight was much more balanced. They moved back and forth, slashing, stabbing, blocking, punching, parrying. Surprisingly, Percy himself was more block, punch, slash, while Kira loved everything except an old-fashioned slash. Each movement by either led fluidly to the next, as if they were following the same script. His advantage was his brain (and instincts), her advantage was that she knew _all_ the techniques and so did not need to predict.

"That book, what was it?"

Percy retreated with a sidestep. "Katherine warned me that you liked to talk when fighting." He didn't add the 'when I asked her about you,' bit, mainly because safety reasons.

"It implies you're a sociopath," she said in response, stepping sideways herself, making him sidestep again, to keep her in front.

"I am, sometimes. The book tells me how to pretend I'm normal."

"Sometimes?"

The answer was complicated. _What_ was Percy? Part sociopath, part psychopath? An ADHD genius savant with specks of nonconformity and narcissism? Calypso would have known; He didn't, not correctly or completely.

"Yeah," he said, deciding to use the short version, "The things I do, sometimes I do them for the knowledge, and sometimes for the wrongness of it. But what is constant is the disregard for social norms, and the brainpower. Why are we playing Twenty Questions?"

"Just 'cause." She feinted low and followed it with a quick punch aimed at his slightly-not-okay collarbone. In the fraction of a second he had, Percy calculated the that he should just take it and instead try another slash.

His knife did its job and drew blood, while Kira's punch fell on the wrong spot. Without delay, she twisted her wrist and cut across his chest. Reflex actions did their job and Percy's knife's return was botched. It cut a much, much deeper slash in Kira's abdomen, his body acting on instinct and biology.

Kira hadn't reacted to the first cut, she cried out at the second one. It was jarring to hear her express pain. Both stepped back, dropped their blades, panted. Both tried to bunch up their tshirts and press them against their wounds

"Damn it!" Kira exclaimed, recovering first, "You get first blood!"

Percy realised he was cursing with hellfire through his gasps and stopped his filthy mouth. Barely. "I did not realise—Holy shit, that stings!—that a medieval concept was the most—Stop, stop right now! Stop blessing you _idiot!_ —the most important thing on your mind right now."

Covering it up required using his hands, which also moved his arms ever-so-slightly, which hurt like hell because some muscles required for arm movement were in the chest, which was where the injury was. _Why did I read so many books and not the one that could help!_

"Stop moving," Kira said, noticing his predicament, "Tense up your muscles, then follow me to the stack of clothes. We'll make bandages."

"But tensing them up will hurt more!"

She rolled her eyes even as she pressed a hand to her own wound and winced. "And it'll make you bleed more, I know. But I know more about these things than you can imagine. Wounds hurt when you change them. Keeping the muscles—No, not okay, let's not move like that—Keeping the muscles relaxed is difficult when you're trying to move, so keep them constricted instead and hold _that_ position. And the blood... do you really wanna argue with a girl about it?"

That cut him short. She was right about the last part—Calypso had often said something similar to him. And because she was an Agent, a job considerably more violent than his entire lifestory, she was _probably_ right about the first bit too. He nodded and obeyed without complaint.

And she was right, it did hurt more at the start but the pain receded after a while. His ADHD supplied that it was like buying a solar panel taking up so much money at once and then saving money forever. _I do not need more facts!_

It was at his fourth painful, painful step that Percy realised Kira must be hurting even more. He could at least tense up and keep his arms steady, but her wound moved _every time_ she took a step—she would hurt the same _or more_ every goddamn step!

"Kira, stop!" he said, walking faster to catch up with her, "You shouldn't move your legs with that cut."

She did stop and level a skeptical gaze at him. "And what can we do about it?"

"Lean on me, I'll boost you so your legs dangle freely. It's a long room, c'mon."

There was still some indecision on her face, but she reluctantly agreed it was better then walking. She stepped closer and put an arm across his shoulders, careful not to touch his wound or put her weight on his hurt side. But when Percy went to put his arm around her to lift her slightly and resume their journey, he was faced another dilemma. A literal _di_ -lemma.

Normally, he'd just put his arm around her waist to boost her up and let her legs dangle. But he waist had a bleeding wound, so his hold would have to shift a few inches up or down, both of which, in his vast experience of various natures, were pretty intimate zones.

He was staring at his options dumbfounded when Kira said, "Up. Go up. Better grip than down."

When Percy made eye contact to confirm, he saw that her all of her sarcasm and snark were gone. _She is affected by this..._ thing _just as much as me._

He followed her order, and placed his hand above the wound, and lifted her half an inch. "Does it hurt?" he whispered.

"Not as much," she whispered.

Nodding, Percy started to walk. It was more difficult to concentrate on keeping his muscles contracted while holding her, but he managed.

The hugeness of the room, which previously he'd loved because it gave them more space to fight, he cursed then, because it meant more blood loss for both of them. By the time they'd covered half the distance in absolute silence, Percy had figured out why Kira's method worked.

"It hurts the same," he began, in an attempt to reduce the awkwardness that had arisen a second time, "Or, at least, it doesn't hurt _less_ , biologically." She looked at him questioningly like _What is it, then?_

"What changes is the frequency," he continued, "When we keep the muscle flexed, the red-alert in the brain is one uninterrupted string of alarm and the brain edits it out."

"So, you mean the reason it doesn't hurt is because it hurts too much?"

"Not exactly. Too much pain would make you faint. A _periodic_ pain is deleted."

"Huh," Kira said as they neared the pile of clothes, "I've been using that trick for years now and I never knew why it worked. I wonder if it's the same with happiness, or good things in general."

They stopped that conversation arm's-reach from the wall. Percy set her down and supported her as she got her bearings once again. Kira leant against the wall and pointed toward the clothes. "Get me two shirts, largest you can find."

Percy did as was told. When she had them, Kira told him how to make a bandage. They cut up six lengths of fabric, bundled one up against her wound, then wrapped two around her waist. The others they made into one long bandage going around his chest three times.

When it was over, they sat on the floor. Her against the wall, him almost buried in the 'pile' of clothes. Percy thought about what to do to pass the time.

"Care to elaborate?" Kira asked, out of the blue.

"On what?"

"Who you are. If you're a sociopath sometimes and not one othertimes, what are you?"

He sat up straighter and gave an honest answer. "I haven't concluded. What I know is this: I'm always either a sociopath or a psychopath. I suffer from ADHD, narcissism, and a little nonconformity. I'm brilliant and am capable of showing savant-tendencies. In short, there are three things wrong (or right) with me: One—"

"Who's the girl?"

"I was trying to answer your own question. As I was saying, the first thing—"

She cut him off again. "Never mind that. I found a picture on your tablet, a portrait. Who is the girl in the sketch? Why do you even draw?"

"Second question first. I told you, I'm a savant. I can learn any skill, job, task, within weeks at most... and then get bored of it. But when I'm in invested in a skill, I can make great things. Like that sketch. I made it centuries ago. Like a year ago."

"Stop dodging the question, Perseus. Who. Is. The. Girl."

He saw her clenched jaw and her fisted hands and her eyes that were pointedly looking away. He hadn't read those signs before. _Maybe..._

He steeled himself and began. "Calypso, my ex-girlfriend, four years dead. She was genius, beautiful, _human_. Better than me, _way_ better... Well, in terms of brainpower, she was better than anyone else. She was fierce, caring, sassy. She grounded me. She liked to sleep on top of me and scratch wounds into my back and read stupid history books."

He couldn't see what was going on in her eyes. "Calypso always said we were different, greater. You would've called her an arrogant bitch. But she _was_ greater and different. And I was too. We were twenty-five when we were thirteen, we were postdocs when we were in school, we could pretty much run the world by the end. And she said we burned so bright that she ran out of life. You saw her portrait, right? Wasn't she pretty?"

"She was..."

"Yeah, that her only mistake. Calypso was raped by one of our professors and committed suicide the same year we met. She went to bed with me one day and I woke up with her dead."

Kira sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm sorry."

Percy waved it off. "So, no. I don't blackmail and rape girls for fun, it's just pure necessity: I do it because, as unbelievable as it may seem, if I don't don't ground myself doing those wrong things, my mind... well, to put it simply, destroying those lives is a lesser damage to the world than what I could end up doing if I don't.

"Why are you telling me this? I didn't ask..." Her voice was lower then, her eyes not meeting his.

Percy moved in front of her. Shoulder, chest, blood, all forgotten. He took her hand in his. "Because I need you to like me. And you need me to be a good guy."

She tried to put protest in her words and voice, and failed. "I don't _need_ you to be a good guy. Why would I care? Our world is of monsters."

"But you do care. You like me, but you can't love a monster. Calypso told me to find someone to love, and I realised a while ago that I found her the day I met you. I just couldn't say it or show it because I'm stupid."

She shook her head. "I don't like you. I don't _love_ you." She was forcing herself, he could _feel_ it.

"You do, Kira. I realised it when you asked about Calypso. You saw her portrait, that means you also saw the only other image in my tablet. I'm definitely good enough that it was clear who the sketch was of, and besides, only you wear masks like that."

Percy stopped to let her protest. She didn't, so he let all his words out. "If you hated me, you could have made up an excuse to find me a traitor and kill me. If you didn't like me, you would have deleted the picture, and found a way to get rid of me, or at least not see me as often.

"Yet, you placed trust in me, met me at many times since my that incident, some of them even when we were alone together, like now but less forced. And the image is still there in my tablet. Tell me that I'm reading things wrong. Or, hell, stop me right now and tell me to back off even if I'm right. Tell me I don't know shit and I'll support your lie best I can."

She did not reply. She did not pull her hand away.

Percy took a deep breath. "I'm going to remove your masks now. If you don't want me to look, here is a dagger. Stab me if I'm you don't want this." He held up her weapon.

He waited a moment, but Kira was still avoiding his eyes. He placed the knife in her hand, closed her fingers around it. He stood up shakily and went behind her so he could see the knots. The outer knots were complex, and the inner ones were half-knots. When he was done, she finally faced him and met his eyes. They were so close.

"You're so beautiful."

Her lap was littered with the fallen strips and shapes of black. Her eyes were teary and felt like his would be too. Her lips were parted like stuck between a gasp and a sad, sad smile. The masks had hidden the smallest pretty things about her... The eyelashes that swept her cheeks, the small stands of her hair that framed her face as gracefully as it deserved to be, the way her skin was just a little lighter near her cheekbones...

His hand instinctively cupped her cheek, his thumb sweeping across her skin to try and feel the sensation of _her_. "I can compare you to a goddess, but that'll mean less than nothing," Percy said truthfully. He couldn't convert how during and deep and all-encompassing his feelings were yet hoped Kira understood.

A lone tear escaped her beautiful, beautiful eyes, and Percy's heart stopped. But then she smiled shakily as he wiped it away, and so his pulse calmed.

"I love you, I haven't been much for a slowburn. I love you and I'm sure and I won't change my mind after getting to know even your worst parts. My feelings... their extent I cannot properly put into words nor understand. Which is surprising since I still love a dead girl and I know next to nothing about you and I have been an unfeeling monster, but it also isn't surprising at all because you're so witty and strong and so much greater than me. I love you as much as I would if this were another world where we were friends for years before starting to fall in love, because I _love_ you, Kira, I love _you_."

"It's Reyna." she said quietly, "My name is Reyna. And I've so, so many scars, Percy."

He was taken aback for only a second. "Well, now I'm _sure_ I know next to nothing about you, and I _still_ don't feel anything different," he said, smiling. Then he realised how stupid he was being. _I'm coming on too strong, I should go slow. I should ask for a date instead, yes I'll—_

"It's too dark inside me for love to survive," Kira— _Reyna_ whispered.

 _Me, too._ "Is it dark enough that we can't tell which scar is mine and which is yours? I can take your scars for myself, let them be mine to bear. Because I'll need a token of us, Reyna, and I'll take your scars if that's what you're giving."

She was silent, her black eyes searching his for something.

He had a random thought and blurted it out that very second. "You know, I've always read and watched and listened to people calling their lover's eyes so bright and sparkly and glittery, but your eyes are so dark that I can't see the brightest freaking light reflected in them and to me that is prettier by a long shot."

Thankfully, Reyna just smiled a small-sad-hopeful smile. "Neither of us has a particularly great life expectancy at this point, you know. And if your feelings are what you say they are, and mine what I think they are... it's gonna hurt. Probably very soon. And then we'll both of us hate every stolen moment. These and those will be our most hated memories."

"Not to me, Reyna. Not if it's you."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your reactions may range from 'The fork is this?!' to 'Aww, so cute!'. I hope it's leaning more toward the latter.
> 
>  **Reveal 1** : Reyna is Kira. This wasn't a rash decision. It was final from the very start of this story. Check out all Reyna and Kira scenes if you want. All those 'Kira' chapters were titled 'White' just to throw you off. In none of those chapters does the PoV character call herself Kira (except when she's talking about herself to someone else, obviously)—it's just how Reyna is in when she's in that headspace! Kira uses the word 'dagger', Reyna does too. Kira is a Beta, Reyna is too. Reyna hates Annabeth, Kira does too. Both of them have a braid, are badass, are initially annoyed with Percy, and thus are the same person. QED! Do you like the twist?
> 
> Sorry if you hate me, but all my ANs are red herrings too.


	20. Blue IV

* * *

Jason was pretty sure he was having the best day of his life. Well, not really, he'd had some _fantastic_ days, but it made top hundred, at least.

It had started off with Venus getting more intense. Which was exciting in two ways: (1) It was Venus—no body he'd ever seen could compare to hers (except maybe Katherine's) and (2) Ares without die of shame and anger when he'd see her moving like _that_. And then, the day had gotten better.

_Because now easily tops that._

Jason was moving through a thick crowd to get to his seat at the head of the muster hall. Everyone around him and enjoying—enjoying a _second_ huge feast, one that had been thrown for him. They loved him _that_ much.

The crowd was even thicker and more raucous than last time, and Jason made a mental note to stop any further self-declared feasts: They clearly stopped the Society from functioning properly and were a huge burden in terms of money. He faked enthused grins at Members he knew, kept well away from the stoned ones. But he made sure they still saw him. He made sure as many saw him as possible, because he wanted to reestablish his authority for anyone who doubted. His importance had been hurt by him being absent most of the feast,he had rectify that.

He'd just caught a glimpse of his seat when her felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around to face the tapper. It was Nick Finch, a... _Gamma Fighter? Or Agent? You guys should start wearing badges..._

"Where's she?" Nick grunted. His face was stoic, and his scowl was seemingly permanent.

"Annabeth's not feeling great today. She's resting in our room," Jason said cordially and charmingly. _See, I am a caring boyfriend!_

"Take no less care than she deserves." Nick replied. Another dissatisfied grunt and he was off.

"I'll make sure she gets better than that even!" Jason called to the other boy's back, "Thanks for worrying, I'll give her your love!"

Jason almost laughed at his stupidity. _What an idiot! You'll have to do much better to get if you really want to get in my good books, Nick. Pretending to care for Annabeth won't get you many brownie points if you disrespect me. I know you're desperate to please me, but she's a weak object to me._ He elbowed past a bleary-eyed boy dragging a slave to a corner and smiled. _I'll give Annabeth your fake love, Nick, and I'll make sure she wants to_ die _after getting it._

His seat was finally in view. Jason quickened his pace. _Can't really blame him, though._ Most _of them are idiots too; He's just one of the herd._

As Jason walked up the stairs to his place on the stage. It was a fantastic vantage point, and since many Members still didn't know he was present, most graphics acts were proceeding in the open. Which was a _view!_ Short of revealing himself and participating in the most gruesome activities himself, watching it all from his king's seat was the most fun he was _ever_ going to have. And since his schedule for the day was mostly clear, he could enjoy all he want. And maybe pick up some ideas to try with Annabeth later.

* * *

"Mr Grace."

Jason had been brisk-walking to his room. And somehow he hadn't heard the squeak of the wheelchair until ancient Chiron had sneaked up on him. Jason pulled his Good Guy mask back on in a second, and suggested they move out of the main path.

"Chiron," Jason greeted, after he'd wheeled to the wall, "How are you? I haven't seen you since the Glenwood Guns briefing."

"I'm fine. Though it's kind of you to ask, since haven't met before except the once."

"Your age is such that it is inhumane not to care, Chiron." Jason smiled angelically, effortlessly. "Is this a chance meeting or were you searching for me? 'Cause if that's the case, you could have called me to your quarters instead."

"It is that case, and I think you'll understand why I didn't hail you: You're the _Alpha_ , Jason, and my age has had me fail in your treatment as such. I'm deeply shamed that Lupa and me didn't behave towards you as is proper. Nor did we rein in the Betas."

Jason wasn't taken aback at all: He'd already planned what to do if the other finally, _finally_ knelt. A boy with less brains might've gloated; He shook his head. "Chiron that's not h—"

He allowed himself to be cut off, Chiron didn't disappoint. "No, Jason. It was a huge mistake, we acting all this time as if you were Castellan. We _had_ to become an oligarchy under him or he'd tear the Society down. That's clearly not the case now. You are polite, sensitive, sympathising, not an addict, sane, moral and, as you said yourself, humane. I've realised our shortcomings and I'll make sure we treat you with the respect you deserve. By visit of your rank and by virtue of your deeds."

 _Damn, they're really all idiots. They all believe my act!_ He felt a surge of pride, but smothered it to avoid grinning like an idiot. "I can't deny your logic, but I also completely believe your defense. And I can understand Chiron, change is difficult and can take long. I know you'll change, and I hope that you don't treat me like I'm crazy, too. But I don't _need_ you to do it. I'll be happy with things just the way they are. I love my job, and I love the power it give me... to help better these lives."

_Okay, that's too sweet. Remember, you are also supposed to be an ex-Gamma Fighter. You've killed people, you cannot be so naive! Backtrack, retreat!_

He continued his sentence to try and reduce the sugar. "—though we _are_ technically supposed to make their lives worse so they get more bounden to the drugs and to us."

It worked: Chiron chuckled, and Jason smiled too. The old man's hands went back to his wheels. "I will leave you now with your puzzle about whether or not to better the Members' lives. I've got to convey my realisation to the Betas. Lupa already knows, but your coequals in age are more important, of course."

 _Yes, you_ fossil _. Teach them respect. Maybe tell them to come apologise personally._ "Goodbye, Chiron. And get some guards around you when you're outside the Compound. If someone identifies you and tries to get you..."

"Then they'll get to know how violent a wheelchair can be," Chiron replied, grinning.

 _Violent enough, I hope. You're not forgives for you sins, Chiron—maybe one day_ I'll _send someone after you._

* * *

The Deltas guarding his room were of the low brain variety. They were really the best suited to the job he actually wanted them to do: Shut up and kill intruders without question.

Jason had made it a point to chose a room with a long empty corridor as the only approach. That meant no one could sneak up on his guards, and the guards themselves could be placed far away from his door and still be as effective. Which was required if he was to continue doing to Annabeth what he did.

And he was feeling exactly like that right then, so he ordered the guards to take positions halfway down the corridor instead of right by the door. They had served enough times to know it meant that he wanted _complete_ privacy while 'he romanced his girlfriend'. It was a violent kind of Do Not Disturb tag, and Jason enjoyed it very much.

Once he was sure the guards were an appropriate distance away, he opened the door. Annabeth was hiding behind her book. Jason went in, locked the door, then locked it again with an electronic lock from his pocket.

He scanned the room. They were alone. Annabeth's hands were shaking. "Are we alone?" he asked her.

"I-I'm still h-hurting from last t-time," she stuttered, "N-Not today, please. I'm— Please Jason, please!"

 _How metaphoric, her reading_ Fall _just before she's sent to hell._ "Are we. Alone?" he repeated. He began checking all the usual places for any company—He knew Annabeth wouldn't try it, but it cost little to confirm.

No one in the bathroom, no person in the closet, nobody under—

_THUD!_

Jason sat up by the bed when. _That's the sound of something heavy and metal falling... But there's nothing like that here!_

Jason scrambled to his feet. Nothing had fallen in his room, so the nois doing had come from the outside. Still the guards weren't doing or saying anything. Jason made up his mind and went to unlock the door, ordering Annabeth to stay put. His hand was just on the keys on his lock when he heard it. A very familiar was voice from just beyond the door.

"This is a siege drill," Jason heard his own voice say, "All Members are to stay in their current zones, which should be easy, seeing as you can't really dig through six inches of steel."

He'd never typed faster. Throwing the two locks aside he wrenched the door open.

The steel wall was right in front of him.

He walked out, touched the wall. It was cool, solid, real.

Overhead, the speaker continued in his voice. "And for the snarky Brains in the labs who want to say, 'I can, because I have a tool to do that,' I _order_ you to remain in your current zone. This lockdown can last up to three hours, so get cosy. If you have an urgent need to get out of the Compound before that... tough luck."

_Who could do something like this? How did they get my voice sample? It sounds so real! How does it sound so real?!_

His shock turned to anger and Jason stormed back in and slammed the door shut. He picked up the locks and proceeded to engage them. "I really hope you're ready, Annabeth," he spat, "I'm going to _destroy_ you ever single second of these three hours and maybe even more. Then I'll calm down, then I'll find out who did this and have him tortured everyday for a _year_." His hands were shaking with anger, and the freaking lock wasn't cooperating.

"Oh don't worry, darling, I'm right here."

Jason froze, his fingers stilling on the keypad. Her voice was sickly sweet, not the fearful he was familiar with. He turned around slowly. "An-Annabeth?"

She was holding a gun. Aimed at him.

Her shirt was off as he'd instructed, her hand was gloved, her hair was perfect. She was caressing a long scar across her abdomen. She seemed completely absorbed in toying with her wound, but her other hand was steady on the trigger. Jason had a sinking feeling she wasn't as obsessed with it as she showed. And her face— She looked... she looked deadly.

"I said you needn't worry about finding the perpetrator of this whole siege drill drama. You have her right in front of you."

 _Is this some kind of sick nightmare? What is this? Who's put her up to this? She loves me,_ fears _me. This isn't Annabeth, it isn't!_

She looked up then, right into his eyes, and try as he might, he couldn't help but be afraid of the intensity in her gray eyes. "Now, you're probably thinking that you hurt me and this is my revenge, but you're wrong."

"Annabeth, put the gun down, I won't hurt you ever again. I'll let you go and clean your records, and, and— I'll make sure nobody else hurts you—nobody will even follow you, I'll make sure. Just—Just put the damn gun down, _put it down!_ "

"In fact," she continued unmoved, "I should be thanking you. You helped me fast-forward through so many levels of the hierarchy. Percy Jackson, Katherine Hill and Darius Eric also helped, but not half as much as you. I'll be eternally grateful."

"What the hell are you talking about? What is this? You stop this right now, Annabeth. Whoever's do—"

Annabeth bowed her head but the gun didn't move an inch. "My apologies. I should have been more comprehensive. let's start at the beginning. I was a young—"

"Give me the gun, you _bitch!_ " He lunged at her.

But she stepped back calmly, and his jump only took him to the ground, hard. He got back up closer to her. Annabeth fired her gun at the wall behind her, clearly a warning. The noise was deafeningly loud in the closed space. Jason fought the urge to cover his ears. _Why did she fire away from me?_

"It's loaded," Annabeth said once she could be heard without having to shout, "and the safety is off, and the user's not that great at holding back. So I suggest that you stop trying to escape, and let me finish my monologue. I've been waiting for this for a long time, and I am prepared to sacrifice more than a couple kneecaps to get my way."

Jason retreated just a step. His brain raced with possible escapes.

Annabeth continued. "As I was saying, I was a young girl of fourteen, in love with this god of a boy a few years older than me, hating my parents and in general dissatisfied with any aspect of my life other than Luke Castellan. I followed him everywhere, and I followed him here.

"He showed me this hellhole, and I declared I was disgusted by him and he slapped me and dumped me. Understandably, the Society didn't want me knowing about them without being indebted to them, and so I got recruited. By this time my hatred for my family had reached a new high since their treatment of me had reached a new low, and while in that sad, angry and hurt state, I understood myself."

While she'd been blabbing on, Jason had calculated that his best chance would be too make her fire and jump away while using the time it took to re-aim to grab a heavy object— _That wooden chair will do_ —and throw it at her to disorient her. Whatever she really was, she couldn't be a real Fighter: He knew her body enough to at least know that. He imagined the jump in his head...

"I understood myself, my inner desires, my worth," Annabeth continued, "I wasn't normal, wasn't helpless, wasn't _pitiable_. I realised I wanted to get to the top and lord over those who had looked down at me with disgust or pity or even indifference. So I picked myself up and began climbing. It was very biblical, that phase, 'Self-help is the key,' and all that crap.

"And then I met you. You were so basic, so stupid, so proud, so macho, so... _gullible_. You thought I would be your ticket to the Society's admiration and your publicist, yes? I thought you would be my ticket to the top. And guess what? We were both right.

"Now for why I should thank you. You see, I didn't have many experiences of the pitiable nature except the one with Luke, and I'd mostly forgotten about them by the time you rose. And I really did need a pitiable origin story to endear myself to the masses, like your 'abusive family'. I built one up, but I quickly determined my acting wasn't convincing. That was right when your abuses started."

She shook her head. "I did not enjoy them, I must say. Nobody enjoys being raped. But I wasn't as affected as I could have been. I have this higher level of my brain that I can retreat to, to escape the grossness of mortality, the _humanness_. I am greater, I told you, and being greater I could pull back to look at the torture clinically and think of it as an experience and not an ordeal. In fact, I was so detached, I even sometimes inserted _you_ into my dreams of a perfect family and fame! You, who were nothing more than a rung of the ladder! I'm _that_ smart, you can understand why you never stood a chance.

" _Any_ way, it helped me perfect the pathetic act—which, as it turned out, I didn't use in my climb at all—along with the family issues I told you about. But it wasn't a waste at all, because I now have an _arsenal_ of sad stories and perfected expressions to brandish if anyone thinks I'm just another power-hungry asshole."

He could take it no longer. He gave voice to his anger while also trying to goad her into shooting. "You can't take over, you crazy _bitch!_ No one will accept a whore as Alpha!"

"Oh I know _that_." She nodded, entirely unaffected by the insults.

Jason fumed but didn't make a move. _How do I make her shoot?_

"You see, while you were busy with your dogs, I became somewhat of a messiah for every single person below rank Beta. Or at least the majority. This girl Katherine Hill followed me around so I became a queen with a handmaiden instead of 'just a body', Percy Jackson smuggled me into Beta meetings so I became a familiar—if unwelcome—part of the power circle, and Darius Eric made the others bring every last one of their queries, requests, disputes, problems, to me. Instead of you, _I_ became the known and loved one. And I still am. You still throw the food to the masses, yes, but _I'm_ the one loved for feeding them. _No one_ will resist me taking over without starting a bloodbath that'll still end in my favor."

"You're _wrong!_ " Jason yelled. _How much was happening when I was looking somewhere else?_ "Mr D protects me. He'll kill you! My supporters will kill you if they come to know you killed me! Finn owes his _everything_ to me! My 'dogs' are the only ones with any real power! The guards outside know you're the only one in here with me! YOU'LL DIE BEFORE YOU CAN GIVE A SINGLE COMMAND!"

Annabeth smiled. "Have some decorum, Jason; Don't scream like a baby. No one will resist, as I said, because they'll each and every one of them believe you declared this siege drill to confess your crimes to me and kill yourself."

He threw his hands up in exasperation. "Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that? Okay, genius, _why the HELL will they believe that?!_ "

"Because I planned this to look like that. I ordered the feast to make it seem like you were even more guilt-ridden over your treachery after it; I put the idea in Chiron's head to praise you and appease you so you'd be on cloud nine and off-guard; I put your voice in the speakers; I shot the warning shot _behind_ me so it would seem like _you_ were the ones with the gun and that _you_ shot to warn _me_ ; I'll put on my pretty face that will be red with wailing right in front of them; And, of course, I did my angelic deeds toward the majority before all this even started. You're doomed, Jason, accept it. Or actually don't, it'll be much more entertaining that way."

"My guilt? _Treachery?!_ " He glared at her, wanting to punch something. "How delusional are you?"

Her gun hand was steady and she gestured with the other as she spoke. "I found your sister, Thalia Grace. Daughter of Beryl Grace and some anonymous prick."

With all the surprises in the last hour, he didn't think he could be any more shocked. And yet— _I have a sister..._

"Maybe she is only a half-sister," Annabeth conceded, shrugging, "Jackson and Summer didn't bring back much, and Thalia apparently erased most public records. But she _is_ related to you, and she's one rank below the top in another gang. I've made it seem like you've been sending her secrets about the Society in exchange for Family Time, and that today she revealed she's just been using you and platonically dumped you, It's easy to connect the dots after that: The guilt came crashing in right after the Members decided to honor you and so you confessed to me the angel and killed yourself. Simple."

He was speechless. If she could prove he had a sister in an enemy gang, even Mr D would want him dead.

But Annabeth wasn't done speaking. "Do you remember how I always kept saying I loved for different stupid things, Jason? 'You're so brave, that's why I love you,' 'You're so strong, that's why I love you,' 'You're so caring, that's why I love you,' and blah blah blah. I must've told you a thousand things I loved you for. Let me tell you this last truth: I only ever even _liked_ you because you were naive and _brainless_. Goodbye Jace, I hope you burn."

He didn't see her pull the trigger until it was too late, he didn't hear the blast until the pain started. And then her body that had been his and his room that would soon be hers all faded to black.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Reveal 2** : Annabeth was faking the 'loving, obedient girlfriend' character to Jason and the other Members, and the 'helpless, innocent slave of the Alpha' character you thought you read was actually a 'wronged, power-hungry psychopath'. She hates Jason, fears their sessions, but isn't afraid of him. Her mind is focused when it comes to Jason— 'Use him, then get rid of him.' Go reread the Gray chapters, she's isn't scared or devoted: You've been misinterpreting her words all this time! I've made very sure her thoughts and monologues can be read as a powerful villain/antiheroine story after you read this chapter. (See: Kuleshov Effect.)


	21. Purple V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White I and II will be counted as part of Reyna's chapters, hence this is Reyna's fifth chapter. Time-setting is a few days after Annabeth's ascension. Also, this is a character chapter, not a plot one.

* * *

Reyna smiled behind her masks and breathed in the fresh air. Well, it wasn't actually fresh because it was still the same city air, but something about the height made it more energising. She could see why Percy had chosen this spot: They were the farthest from the Compound they could be while still not encroaching into other active territories. She turned around to ask him more, and found him wrestling with the door.

Walking closer, Reyna saw that he was, in fact, wrestling with the _lock_ on it. And furiously whispering vicious things about its family. She asked him what he was doing.

"I'm _trying_ ," he said, "to lock this door. But it isn't locking!"

She took the key and nudged him away. Tried it one way, failed. Then she tried it the other way, and it engaged easily. She rolled her eyes at him. "Sometimes you have to try it the other way 'round."

Percy stared at the lock. "Can't believe I didn't try that."

She pocketed the key. "Why do we need it anyway? It's not like it can hold against anyone who wants to break it open. The door itself will give way after a few blows or bullets."

He shifted the bag strap higher on his shoulder. "It's not meant to be an unbreachable barrier. You know that stray twig in bad horror movies, the random stick that cracks and alerts everyone? The door's supposed to be that. Whoever wants to come in will give us a warning and a few seconds to prepare."

They approached a waist-high nondescript block of concrete. Percy led her around it so they were on its outward-facing side. He plopped down and patted the space beside him. "Along with this block—which is _the_ reason why I choose this building—we get a couple of minutes to get ready. It's probably someone's storeroom or something."

Reyna sat down. Their legs dangled over the edge. Her left foot covered up a glass building perfectly. "Nice view."

"We're twelve stories high. Not a big number, but high enough to give vertigo."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"That was my very indirect way of saying that no one down below can recognise us unless they're already holding binoculars. You can relax and take off the masks. _If_ you want to, of course—I like the masks just as much!"

She smiled. "So if someone else wore them, say Clarisse La Rue..."

The corner of his lips twitched. "Assuming she doesn't kill me for being within ten feet for her, _no_."

She held in a retort and started unknotting. They fell into a comfortable silence. For about two seconds, thanks to Percy's ADHD.

"I've been meaning to ask you: Is there something going on between you and Annabeth? I mean, that look you two gave each other when she announced her rank— that was freaking _tangible_."

"My look was a warning. Hers... either scared or aloof."

Reyna removed the last mask and set them all aside. When she turned to him there was a blinding kind of _Wow_ on his face. She tried not to blush and daringly said, "I was expecting a follow-up question. Cat got your tongue?"

"Hope not," he said quietly, "I've got a lot to say to you."

They were so close. He was about to do something. She wanted him to do something. But she was broken and weak and there was only so much love she could taken, and so she turned away. Blinked rapidly, cleared her throat. "I threatened her a few weeks before she took over."

He knew somehow, what she wanted. "Annabeth?"

"Yeah. I cornered her near the entrance. I told her I saw through her meek act, saw her for the power-hungry liar she was. She denied it, of course. I wanted her that if she gained too much owe too fast and abused it, I would tear her down and tear her apart. Part of this was with a gun to her head."

Through the corner of her eye she saw him nod. He was following along without question, without hesitation. "You think this was staged. How do you think she pulled it off?"

"I think she looked through our Amazon reports—which I'd hidden very nicely, by the way: I didn't want any bloodthirsty Fighter finding it and starting another war. So she must've looked _really_ thoroughly— Where was I? Yeah, she looked through our report, used it to frame a story in which Jason was a traitor."

"So he's not a traitor. Yes, it makes sense: If he'd been talking to Thalia, they would have caught or killed us by now." He shifted awkwardly in the narrow space. "Well, congrats on being the only one to see this coming. She did rise too fast and she was a liar. But... she hasn't abused her power so far. I mean, the only big thing she done so far is to rename us. I'd say that's a positive change."

She couldn't help but grin at that. "'Member' _does_ sound obscene."

"And I verified that 'Elicus' does mean colleague and not something megalomaniacal like 'slave' or 'peasant'. If she is going to be a dictator, it hadn't happened yet."

"So we aren't reporting this to Mr D?"

"We can control her, so why not let her be in power?"

" _You_ can control her. But yes, "Reyna agreed, "let her have her fun."

Percy squirmed again. "My butt is aching."

"Well, you should've brought something for us to sit on, then, Mr Planner."

"I should've— Damn it... I hate myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid." He banged his head against the wall, then turned to her in defeat. "Reyna, I beg you to remind me of the smallest things whenever you can, because I'm a complete and utter mess."

"I agree, but what do you mean?"

He held up his backpack. "I brought extra jackets for the cold and for sitting on. And forgot."

"ADHD?"

"ADHD," he sighed.

"You're weird."

"Rude." Percy said, and starting searching.

A random memory surfaced watching him. "Hey, what about that time with the numbers? That time near the Amazons? Six hundred ninety three, you said it wasn't obvious."

He didn't even look up. "Because it isn't, not to me. The condition is called dyscalculia, like dyslexia, but for numbers. I need more time to connect digits to abstract quantity."

He brandished the jackets. Gingerly, they raised their butts and managed to push one each under them. Then Percy pulled out beers. She sipped at hers while he took one big gulp before continuing. "I can tell you sixty is five lots of twelve or whatever, but if you write down ten plus fifty, I'll need a minute. It sounds like something a kid would tell his mom after bad grades, doesn't it?"

"It does. But I've seen you do everything without complaint except that one thing. How'd you get through school?"

"Backbencher and troublemaker in the class. In the exams... cheated when I could. When I couldn't, I'd spend half the exam time reading the test and the other half solving it. My handwriting was abysmal. Doctors can't top it at their worst."

"That is a high standard."

"And I reached it. God, it was terrible. I experimented with all caps once. Unfortunately I had a Karen of a teacher who called my mom to discuss that literary blasphemy."

"Reaction?"

He shrugged. "Nothing interesting. Mom sweet-talked a way out. When we went home she just told me to listen to authority even if it's nonsense. Except, of course, if there's another way. Reyna?"

"Yes?"

"Are you enjoying this?"

Her answer was ready, still she thought it over. The day was comfortably cool. The jackets and the wall was just warm enough to be pleasant. Percy's chlorine-and-salt smell was nice. The view was okay, and her masks were off. "I'm getting to drink and laugh. And I'm getting to be me. What can I say? Can do better."

Percy threw a solemn salute. "Will try harder next time, milady."

And then, just because her insecurities won't shut up, she added, "I really love it, thank you."

"I kind of understood that."

"Making sure."

"Don't trust me to be smart enough?"

"Obviously."

But it wasn't that. She was new to the idea of affection and he'd been so messed up for so long that he'd forgotten it. They were both walking on eggshells because they loved love and liked the simple happiness they got from it.

She handed him her empty bottle. He handed her a new one. "Can I ask you another question? ADHD strikes again."

"Sure."

"Kira Summer? The mask and the alias? That's got to be an awesome story."

"Um."

His eyes widened. "Unless it's stupid an-and irrelevant! I'm an idiot, you don't have to say anything!" He stumbled over his words, backtracking.

"No, uh. This isn't... isn't _that_. I can tell you this, I can." She'd told him that some parts of her life were hurting and could trigger a breakdown. He hadn't asked. But Kira Summer wasn't like San Juan. She could tell him about it. "I need to, uh, put it into words? I've never thought about it that much. I have a habit to leaving things behind, so."

"That's alright. We can do this some other day. You can think about it by yourself, at home."

_But you've told me your worst._ _And I don't think I can handle this myself..._

"No. I'm going to tell you the story. It's simple, really, nothing that great. After we—my sister and me—moved here, I was... _volatile_ , let's say... I wanted to get away from her, from all the hurt. I knew legal stuff won't help. So I trained, built up skills. Walked into an alleyway, got recruited somehow. This was a small gang, not the Society. But they had resources. I used them to get a new identity, fleshed out Kira Summer, became used to her.

"But just before I felt confident enough to leave that gang and my sister both, there was a firefight. We versus the Society. Eleven of us, maybe just as many Fighters. Long story short, everybody on my side died, I escaped to a rooftop, got captured anyway. The masks were my gang's thing, by the way. Anyway, I lied to the Fighters that ours was a bigger and scarier gang than theirs. They brought me to the Compound. I told my story to each rung of the ladder one by one, everybody believed it. Except Mr D, who saw through it, and instead of killing me off, recruited me. And now my job is lying."

"But... why didn't you try to get out of this? Your main motive was to get an identity and escape, right?"

"This life's better than being a fugitive. I knew that much even back then. I have control over myself while having a normal life on the side. And the masks mean Reyna is untraceable."

"Fair enough. And how did you manage to stick with the mask?"

She shrugged. "Mr D was impressed; He said I could do what I wished. For context, I fooled Lupa with that same story before they took me to him."

Percy's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "On your literal first day!"

"I think she was having a bad day."

"Still, that's impressive! And now I have _so_ many questions! Why did you move here? Where's the rest of your family? Did you directly become an Agent? What rank did you start at? What's—"

 _No, no, no, please don't, no, I can't— My hands are shaking, this can't happening right now, no no no no!_ Her fingers were cold, her wounds were throbbing. He was yelling, stabbing, pushing, Percy was pushing her off, wasn't he? _There's no space here, I'm going to fall!_

Suddenly Percy grabbed her elbow and tugged at it. His hand was scorching hot. Her skin was melting off. He took her hands in his and squeezed. He was saying something. "—comfort, light pressure—" _Yes it does feel nice. My finger are frozen and you're scorching hot, do it again please?_ "—don't know...stop me if—"

And then he was pulling her to him. She was crying. His arms were around her. His back was against his chest. Something brought her back. The ice disappeared. She could think again, see again. Reyna tried to make sense of it. She was having a breakdown. On a rooftop, in Percy's arms. Over some innocent questions. _Why am I like this, why? I did this, he didn't do anything wrong, he didn't trigger it. I'm messed up, I'm doing this! I'm triggering it, it's my fault!_

"Nothing is threatening you right now. You're alright. Nobody is going to hurt you now."

 _But I'm not alright and I'm the one hurting me._ She gathered all her strength and said, "Sorry."

"Oh thank God you broke through— I need the answer to this Reyna, is this okay? I don't know much but is this okay? Tell me before I make this worse!"

"Feels nice," she rasped, scrubbing at her face. She was normal for a moment or two but a second wave could come any second, because she was just that weak and tainted and messed up. "What did you do?"

"Light pressure equals comfort and calm. Usually. Listen, you can forget about it, okay? We don't need anything."

"I've never come back this quick," she mumbled. Out of fuel and fire and humor and cold and—

"That's okay. That's good. Can you breathe with me? Reyna we've—"

But she was already lost within herself. Worse than before because she could think and blame and hurt. _Maybe I came back so quickly because there wasn't anybody with me before._ She'd been alone. Always alone when it got too much and she couldn't move for hours. In the days at San Juan, in the nights after. The sounds of Hylla hurt, the ghost of Father hurt. Her wounds hurt less because it was her head's turn. And every moment felt all-encompassing, eternal. _I'm shaking again. Like the last leaf in fall. Percy did all that to calm me down and I brought it back. Why am I like this?_ He was giving light pressure that equaled comfort and talking soft nothings to her and wiping her tears and she was hurting herself and killing herself and killing everyone and torturing everyone and they'd planned a freaking date why did everything have to go _wrong!_

"You're safe, you're alright. I'm the only one here with you and I'm— Well it seems I'm trustworthy."

"You aren't a threat," she managed, because it was important to say that, to herself and to the world.

Impossibly, his voice softened further. "I know. You can throw me off the roof even in this state. I'm a kitten."

Like a dream within her nightmare, in the dim room with the broken window and black pools of blood, a tiny kitten popped into existence at the edge of light from outside. Percy appeared, hugging her from behind. "What color are you as a kitten?" Reyna asked quietly, raising a hand towards it. The cat blinked and watched and didn't move. "Black? White? Green?"

"Maybe orange and white. And blue. You?"

"I'd— I want to be white and... purple? Golden eyes."

Percy muttered a curse.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was thinking of going to a cat playarea next time. But those colors. I don't think they'll let us paint the kittens. Reyna, can you hear me clearly?"

"'Course stupid, you're touching me. I can feel you talk. You vibrate too much."

"Okay, so you know I'm here and you know the rooftop is the reality. This one's different from the last one. We're just gonna ease you back here, alright?"

"'Kay."

"Let's do this the funny way. Close your left eye, please."

She did. The kitten hid behind her eyelid.

"Now look at your nose. Keep staying at your nose and close your right eye."

Black. Dim red glow from herself, but everything else zero.

"Raise your hands and keep your palms in front of your eyes. Yes, like that. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Now, open your eyes."

It was blinding. She had to blink rapidly to adjust. Slowly, her hands came into focus. She flipped them to see the back. _Nails, my nails, I gotta cut them._ Her eyes went to her watch. _Two hours since we left the Compound._ "How long... How long was I... there?"

"You were quick, you're strong."

"How long?"

"I didn't count. Felt like thirty."

The white noise from the street was the same as before. The sun hadn't changed, hadn't moved. Feeling returned to fingertips, hands. Reyna closed here eyes for one moment, just to see her cat and absorb it.

"How are you?"

 _You're different,_ she wanted to say, _you're so much better than you think._

He'd told her about his crimes. He'd explained. But she'd known he was the same as her, victim and villain. How he'd helped her overcome her nightmare, it just further proved that. They were both monsters, but they were trying. And if they were good to each other, that was enough for her. The rest would follow.

"Reyna, how are you?" Percy repeated.

"I'm back."

That must have been the final sign he had been looking for, because then he exhaled noisily and fell back against the wall. His arms loosened around her waist. She looked at him over her shoulder. "Have you ever done this before?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Not really. I've read about it, though."

"Accidentally? Or were you searching for it?"

"I often look up weird things that could potentially be some use some day. Like how to tune a car to get more torque, how to make sleeping medicine from day-to-day stuff, or how to rear sheep. I'd have looked this one up on my own eventually, but I read a novel about it before I got around to search it myself. After finishing the novel, I wanted to know if it was accurate. And so I learned this. Was it good?"

Satisfied, Reyna righted herself and stared over the city once again. "That helped so much. If I'd been alone, this could take me anywhere from an hour to two days to deal with."

"Okay, we have two options now. Do you want to talk about it or do you want to be distracted from it? There is literally no need to heal if you don't want to, alright? All I ask is that you carefully consider what you want, and not give in to temporary, stray thoughts."

"I need time."

"We have forever," he said. She felt his hands slip off of her. "Right, distraction. Climb out and I'll tell you a story. It's kind of lame, though."

Reyna made no move to get up. She found his arms and pulled them back around her. "I like this seat. Tell your story."

"Uh."

"What's wrong?"

"I... thought you didn't— that you weren't big on contact."

 _I'm not. But this is comforting and not threatening. Loving and not taking, destroying._ Reyna had never been a stary-eyed romantic. Even back when her life hadn't been as messed up, her time with Hailey and Valentina, she had been strictly non-dreamy. But there was something in the moment when she touched him and he touched her, something in the contact that made it different. Calming and exciting and unfamiliar. It was a visceral reaction, and it'd been the same no matter how open she became with him and how many times they'd touched. She loved it and feared it.

Instead of voicing the sweet turmoil in her, Reyna said, "Your story?"

"...right. Did I tell how you I'm half seawater?"

"No you didn't. I can smell it though, half seawater and half pool-water."

"That is correct. Though one can argue that there's a little space for sass and stupidity too. Anyway, I'm half water because swimming is a constant. My ADHD makes me tired and bored of things after I've learned them to a certain level—sketching, programing, theology and so on. But swimming I'm never tired of. And it helps the hyperactivity, somehow. Seawater better than pool-water. That's why I always smell like chlorine: I swim whenever I get the chance."

She reached out behind her blindly, aiming for his hair. Unfortunately, she poked him in the eye instead. "Sorry," she said to his _Ow!_ , "I wanted to feel your hair. It didn't _look_ as if ruined by chlorine."

"It isn't," he said when she found it and felt it.

"How."

"Magic hair!" he said, frankly over-enthusiastically.

"It's _soft!_ How the hell is it soft?! People die for this!"

"Reyna, truth is... I'm secretly a magic deity and I chose this form to be more relatable."

" _Right_ , the sociopath is _always_ the most relatable. What a wise deity."

"You're mocking me right now, but you won't be laughing when you see how many friends I can make when push comes to shove. By manipulating them, of course. Sociopathy has its advantages."

"Of course."

"You were supposed to say that I'm charismatic and don't need to manipulate people to befriend them."

"Nope. Did you bring something other than beer and jackets?"

"I did, fortunately. But it's on you from the next time, just to be safe."

Reyna looked around while Percy searched for the foodstuff. _We gotta find a place like this closer to the Compound. We can't sneak up here everytime. We need a safe place._ The word 'safe' drew her along a tangent.

"The Amazons."

"What?"

"They're working on something, preparing for something. A doomsday, as you said."

"Yeah. Cheese or spice? I mean, like a flavor."

"Cheese, usually. My point is, we'll have to find out what this doomsday is, if we're going to survive it."

"For a second there I thought you were going to say, 'If we're going to prevent it.'"

Reyna shrugged. "We don't live in the right world for that. We'll need everything we've got just to live. If not more."

"We will survive," he promised with finality, "I'm not losing this so soon."

* * *


	22. Silver II

* * *

Thalia felt unreasonably happy and proud seeing Emma go through the exercises she'd devised. Unreasonable because she had done this many times before, trained many, _many_ Newbie Amazons. But something about it being this fierce young girl that she'd turned from a feral whirlwind to a (kind of) calm, (kind of) disciplined fighter made her prouder than ever before.

She stepped out of the shadows from where she'd been watching Emma warm up. Emma caught the movement and stopped and stood up straight. "Where's Kinzie?" she blurted.

"She won't be training with us anymore. I only asked her to help me with you because she's closer to your age than me and I thought she could bridge the gap." Thalia picked up the weapons Emma had arranged on the floor to prepare for her arrival and began putting them back in their shelves. "I can really be an asshole at times."

"Why did you put them away? The guns and knives?"

"Were doing something new today. I had Kinzie put you on Bunker duty. You're just two days away from rank Rookie. Just a little Bunker duty and socializing.

"Socializing?"

"Getting to know your sisters. C'mon now, we need to get our tasks from Naomi." Thalia nudged her out of the room and locked it behind her.

"Why didn't we do that before, when we were taking breaks? I could've made friends instead of just sitting there."

Thalia steeled herself. "We didn't trust you," she explained, "It's part of the job, okay? Every trainer _has_ to treat the newcomer with suspicion"

For once, Emma's eyes were inscrutable. She stared at Thalia while perfectly keeping up with her.

Thalia carried on. "And normally I'd never think that of someone your age, but you were so _perfect_ , too good to be anything over than a spy."

"But I'm not."

"I know that now. And I promise no more secrets."

Thankfully, Emma just nodded and asked, "What is Bunker duty?"

Thalia squashed her misplaced relief. "The short answer is 'random things'. You help the others with whatever they want, or are assigned special assignments by your higher ups." Thalia made to leave and waved at Emma to follow, continuing as they walked. "Some Bunker jobs are regular and important enough to have a name and category of their own, but we don't do that."

"Why?" Emma asked, perplexed.

"Because it distracts. Recuse is what we were made for. Defense is necessary because we need to hide ourselves and protect the less violent Amazons. But if we gave things like spies and addicts their own categories, it'll be like giving up the importance of our original mission."

"I think I understand what you saying. Spying is an important job but you don't want it to feel important because it'll make everyone think that they're just here to enjoy fighting and stuff, right?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Some already do, in spite," said a new voice.

They'd reached the tasks table, and it was Naomi who'd spoken. "There are already some nonsympathetic jerks in our ranks who only care for their hide and their drugs," she explained.

Emma stared at Naomi. Thalia made the introductions. "Emma, this is Naomi, the Ace who hands out Bunker assignments. She's Kinzie but at a smaller scale."

"I'm her second, Thalia; I do all her work."

Thalia ignored that. "Naomi, this is Emma the Newbie I told you about."

Naomi just picked up a random list and shoved it at them. "Just take these and go! I don't have the time or alcohol for this."

Thalia took the offered sheet and led Emma out, smirking. When they were well away, she read to Emma from the papers. "Our first task is helping with the Evac. We have to take the delivered boxes, partition them into proper rations and pack them up. We've got to do that for at least an hour. They told us what to pack and how much."

They stopped at a fork. "If you're ever confused which way to go, you can ask a sister. If there's no one around, keep choosing the bigger hallway till you reach a lounge. There you can get someone to guide you."

"What if there's no one at the lounge I find?"

Thalia chose the way to the Evac center and said, "Then hide, because the only way any lounge is empty is if we're under attack."

"Okay."

Thalia read their second assignment. "We also have to supervise the cleaning boys from two to four."

"Boys?"

"Yeah. Someone has to clean up the messes we make. And making Amazons do that doesn't really promote unity and sisterhood, so we took some bad guys captive and killed them on paper. Now we feed them and they do menial tasks for us. Servant-like or unimportant tasks."

The door to the Evac center was wide open and the room itself was empty. The ready rations were set in piles to the right while freshly delivered foodstuff were in unopened plastic wrapped stacks to the left. A wrapping machine was against the opposite wall, right between raw material and product. Thalia led them to the delivery stacks.

Emma stood by as Thalia tore the packaging, catching stray bottles or cans that rolled off. When she was done, enough foodstuff was exposed to form an armful for both of them. Thlia first gave Emma her load of water bottles and micro-extracts, then took her own load of long-storage carbs and meat. They went to the wrapping machine and dumped it all on the floor.

Thalia retrieved the sheet from her pocket and held it out to Emma. "Take that and start handing me correct rations. Verify every single one against the scheme before giving it to me."

They set to work. Initially, they worked in sync, one portion wrapped and another prepared simultaneously. But since Thalia's part was more time-consuming than Emma's segregation, soon she fell behind. Within fifteen minutes, the little girl had sorted every foodstuff into its ration, and even brought more where there were less. She grinned at Thalia, and sat on the floor by her feet and the prepared portions, looking up at her working. Because the wrapping machine didn't really allow for two to work at the same time, and because it wasn't particularly boring or tiring work, Thalia let her be.

Barely ten minutes into Thalia's solo working and Emma said she was bored and asked, "What's all this for?"

"We're preparing for the Evac," Thalia answered, tossing a package into Emma's hands to put with the others and hand her the next to be wrapped.

"I know that. But what's the Evac? And why do we need food and water?"

 _Perfectly spy-like._ But Thalia, as she'd said to the others, couldn't even _think_ Emma was a spy, and so she explained as much as she could without giving away sensitive information. "We suspect—strike that, we _know_ a time will come very soon that we'll have to go hide away to be safe. That is the Evac, short for evacuation. And we also know when that time comes, no food or water will be easy to come by, so we're saving up for then. To be the most efficient, these rations are the perfect diet for any Amazon with a lot of physical exertion."

"Why will there be no food and water?"

"Something big is going to happen," Thalia said, finishing up another portion, "And one of its most important results will be that normal life will be destroyed. We don't know how far the effects will reach—this city, absolutely, but the state, the country, the world? No idea. So we take precautions and prepare for the safety and health of every Amazon. We're also buying medicine, toiletries and stuff in massive quantities, but we're keeping those orders spread thin so no one knows. Don't worry, we'll keep you safe."

Emma's eyes widened. "My brothers! Thalia, we need to keep them safe too!"

"Uh..."

"They're my only family!"

"Emma, listen—"

"I can't live without them! They can't live without me!"

Emma looked on the verge of tears. Thalia dropped her work and sat in front of her. "I understand what you're feeling. I know what that's like. But many girls here won't accept any male near them. They have good reasons to. It doesn't matter if they're just boys. They'll be killed. Some will try to kill you for loving them."

"But, but— I'll keep them away. You, you won't have to see them! They won't hurt anyone!"

"I know that. But... I can't let those girls down, Emma. You're too young to understand. Their prejudice is justified. They've suffered so much."

"My brother have suffered just as much as them!" Emma shouted, tears streaming down her face. "You can't let them just die!"

 _You're hope. But we're in hell._ "Nobody here will help your brothers." Thalia took a deep breath. "There's only one way I can help you, and it kills me to even suggest this."

"Please, Thalia, _please!_ Something!"

"I'm only saying this because I know how much you love them and because I trust you, okay? I can... If you want it, when the Evac starts, I'll have them hand you supplies. Rations, weapons. Enough for six months for you four. That's all I can do."

Emma covered her mouth, tearing up, then she tackled Thalia, thanking her a million times.

 _Kids shouldn't have to worry about this. How bad have we messed up?_ Thalia rubbed her back to calm her down.

Once Emma was quieted and had settled back into her position in front of Thalia, she muttered a final "Thank you," and swiped at her eyes.

"There's going to be some conditions, okay?"

"Conditions?"

"I'll need something to show the others that your brothers won't bother them. Basically, you won't travel with us and we won't protect you or them. Officially, you'll been on a long solo mission. You won't know where we are at any time, but if we do spot you, we'll refresh your supplies with what we can spare. This is the worst case scenario. I'll try giving you better, but don't hold your breath."

Emma nodded, smiled and held up a ration as if an offering.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are ever confused now or in the future about **the Amazons' daily workings** , here's a recap: Every day, in the Allocation, Kinzie assigns one of Defense, Rescue or Bunker duties to the Amazons present and not working on another task. Defense girls are allocated groups and protect the bunker like how Kira and Percy witnessed in White I. Bunker girls stay inside and are given miscellaneous work. Rescue girls, they save the Damsels as partially seen in Silver I.
> 
>  **Emma** is not going to turn into a PoV character or a major character, even though it may seem like she's getting too much focus. She **is Thalia's foil** , someone to see Thalia reflected by. **She's also the New Entry plot device** that's used in a lot of stories to explain things to so that the reader also comes to know about those things without it looking like the veterans are talking to themselves about things they should already know. Examples: Percy, Magnus and Meg in their respective books.


	23. Blue V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?! A Jason chapter?

* * *

Jason's body felt like he'd been dragged through hell.

He groaned and opened his eyes to a blatant white ceiling that was so stereotypically _hospital_ that he had to fight a cringe.

"Oh, don't be such a baby, Grace. It's just a little major organ damage. No one's drug you through hell."

It took a brief moment sure to his disorientation, but Jason realised that he'd spoke out loud, and that Katherine Hill had spoken. He turned his neck sharply to where her voice had come from.

"Katherine?" He started to get up and failed.

"I'm here, Jason," she said, coming into view from wherever she been before, "Don't get up: Your anaesthesia is just starting to wear off. Hello." She was looking and acting decidedly _not_ Katherine Hill the accidental flasher.

But he had bigger things to worry about. "I'm... alive? How?"

She went out of view for a second. There was a clanking sound and then she returned. Jason adjusted himself to face her fully. Katherine sat down on the chair she'd brought. "Officially,Annabeth just barely stopped you from kling yourself. Your heart survived, your spleen, not so much.

"I stumbled on your half-dead body after the siege drill and had you patched up, first at the Compound. You were stable for five days, then worsened. So I brought you here, to a real hospital. They've only just allowed you to be awake. Your family thinks you're staying over at a friend's place."

He took several long moments to absorb that. First the tiny things: _A spleen wound. Just like Katniss._ Then the larger things: _Katherine saved me, twice._

"Why did you...? Annabeth spread a story about... right?" Jason did not have words for a lot of things.

"Yes, she did. She's the queen and I'm the handmaiden and you're the traitor. All very nice, everyone has accepted it wholeheartedly. Fortunately for you, Mr D had assigned me, weeks ago, this small job of keeping an eye on you to check if you are a traitor. And you aren't. And now he's shifted my target to Annabeth Chase. And you're the only one with the real story of what happened in that room. Which is important stuff to know about Chase."

Apparently, his mind was meant to forever be in a state of shock. "You—you were a spy? All this time you've been acting?"

She smirked. "Enjoyed the view, didn't you? And the backstory? Special pure innocent sheep for the angry hungry wolf. I'm a seductress, always have been. My job at the Society is to seduce the targets that Mr D gives me and then, as per the mission, extract the information I need, or get them killed."

"Th-That's a high-ranking job! You should've been a Gamma or Beta!"

"Yeah, well. I'm also kind of famous in the outside world and easily blackmail-able, so I had to not draw attention to myself and thus remain a low-ranking Aid."

"You're famous?"

"As I said, 'kind of'. I'm Piper McLean. Ring any bells?"

It rang a freaking _gong_. At least that shock was somewhat processable. "Daughter of Tristan McLean?! The girl whose mother died recently?"

"So you do watch the news."

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths and tried to make sense of it all. All that had gone unseen and was being dumped on him simultaneously. He failed.

"Okay. No more questions for you," Katherine—no, Piper _McLean_ the seductress—said, "You look ready to pass out from shock. I can only imagine how shocking it was for your worldview to be shattered by Annabeth Chase... who also then fired at you. Get some sleep, I'll get your forms ready."

She started to stand up but his hand shot out and grabbed her arm. "No! I need to know, why did she spare me?"

"I haven't figured out that bit yet," Piper admitted, "Going by your records, you are a particularly destructive guy in bed, and going by Annabeth's posture she's very much felt it, so why didn't she kill you is really a mystery; I can only theorise. She wasn't hurt that much by all the rapes? She didn't feel the story allowed for enough guilt to allow for suicide? She thought a dead you could be sympathised with? Like romanticising the dead? 'Oh he was only a lost boy who wanted to be with his sister!' I don't know. I only know that she hated you enough to mortally injure you yet not enough to kill you."

Something clicked in his brain then and he realised how much danger he had been in. Cat had said he had been deceivingly stable for five days and then worsened enough to warrant a real hospital, which obviously meant thousands of complications. "You—you saved my life. I was dying, and you saved me twice." His heart was swelling up with gratitude and happiness, feelings that had become estranged to him.

Piper accepted the thanks though she looked uncomfortable. "You're welcome... Look, I'll get your release formalities over with and we'll get you out of here. Then talk, okay?"

 _You saved me when you didn't have to, when all I did was ogle you. You saved me twice,_ me _, the despicable, the monster._

* * *

"What do the others think?"

They were sitting on a bench in a park across the road from the hospital holding their coffees. Jason had stayed in the bed for an hour weaning from the anaesthesia and adjusting to the state of not-dead and not-unconscious. Meanwhile, via a little Society-magic, money-magic and a pinch of hot-girl-magic, Piper had coerced the (young, male, pervert) doctor into letting Jason go without paperwork or further tests and instructing the record-keeper to erase his history.

"Of what?" Piper asked.

"Of me. What do the Members think happened to me? What does Annabeth think of you taking me places to revive me?"

"Firstly, they're not called Members anymore. Chase's first act as Alpha was to replace 'Member' with 'Elicus', plural 'Elicii'."

"What's that mean?"

"It's Ancient Greek for 'colleague'," Katherine-Piper explained, "And what a power move. She supplied a good logical reason _and_ an aesthetic reason _and_ she's made a dramatic change that will only be attributed to her forever. She's made her mark, established herself as dictator, and proved her just-a-smart-innocent-girl-not-a-power-hungry-bitch persona, all in one move!"

He sipped at his coffee and nodded, appreciating Annabeth's choice of first command. "That was a good step. She's innocent and lovely to the masses; She stick with that. The dictator thing too. Once they see that she's admired and un-weak-willed, the Betas and Gammas won't try to take advantage of the shift."

Piper-Katherine blinked at him. "Dude, I _cannot_ understand you." She shook her head. "Anyway, look. The answers to your questions are: Annabeth doesn't know I'm getting you treated, and two, everyone thinks you're a traitor who was nearly dead and is recovering unaided.

"Annabeth said that just after she saved you and just before you passed out, you begged her to let you repent by healing alone and restarting at rank Tau. Her _second_ command as Alpha was to change your rank. She reasoned that it was only proper for a traitor. Nobody has questioned her or challenged her since, at least not openly."

"She really is brilliant." He could only imagine what would've happened if they'd really been in love, and if she had been his strategist and coequal. _That would've been really nice._ "You, uh... you said you wanted information?"

Piper pulled out her phone, nodding. "Yes, I need you to first tell me exactly what occurred before Annabeth Chase murdered you." Her fingers were just above the keyboard, ready to type away.

He told her. Every detail, every thought, every feeling. He told her how they'd met, for reference. He told her all his misinterpretations of her, his image of her. He described his twisted thoughts, his savagery. Piper heard it all without interrupting.

She did not type.

When he was done, he asked her why she hadn't taken notes, since that was why she had wanted him. It took her several moments to speak up. "You're different," she said finally.

Jason shrugged, barely understanding his transformation himself. "You didn't answer: Why did you not write my story down?"

"Oh, I can't send this information to Mr D through any open network: I have to protect it but it's too lengthy to turn into skipcode. I'll have to get a secure channel, and then—because I'm too lazy to type that much—have you write it yourself." She began tapping away on her phone.

"What are you doing? How are you going to get a secure channel?"

"Texting my friend and Mr D's equivalent of a guardian angel, Emily... there!" Jason leaned closer to see what she was doing, but her screen was a blur of apps and swipes. Or maybe that was his disorientation. Piper carried on. "Emily (or whatever her real name is) will meet us as always at _Caffeine Wars_. There she'll give me a phone to text Mr D with, and then he'll debrief us and brief us. We'll have to figure out how to—"

He cut her off, bewildered. "Wait, _another_ coffee place? You've had two already, are you addicted or something?"

She stood up, making to leave, and threw him a grin over her shoulder. "I am addicted and I'm proud of it. It's the greatest addiction, Jason Grace: It's a curse to love. You can't disagree."

 _I_ would _have disagreed once, favoring torture and power instead. But I feel like the addict has left me._ Jason closed his eyes and tapped at his temples. _Woah. Too many deep thoughts... I need a beer._

* * *

 _What the_ hell _was that?!_ was Jason's first thought when he recovered from the disorientation. Piper locked the door, and he turned to her to express his disbelief... and she clamped a hand over his mouth and handed him her phone, whispering, "Type. I don't want your voice tipping off anyone. There's still girls outside."

' _What the hell was that? How did you sneak us into a girls restroom WITH girls STILL inside it?_ '

She read it and restricted the phone to erase the text and type. He retrieved it and read: ' _What do you mean? Didn't you notice? You SAW how we got in._ '

His words were as frustrated as he felt. ' _No. I don't. I was there with you but I didn't understand a single thing and I'm STILL disoriented from the speed of things!_ '

' _The logistics aren't important,_ ' she typed in response.

He shook his head in disbelief, baffled for the umpteenth time. ' _What now?_ '

' _Wait for Emily. She'll be here in two. Then we'll talk with Mr D._ '

It wasn't a particularly eventful or long wait. He tried to look anywhere but at her and she wasn't interested in anything but him. When he'd accidentally caught her eye, he'd seen that her gaze was both clinical and not. Once upon a time it would've made him excited or even enraged, but now he was just uncomfortable.

And Piper was unfazed by both his unease and by him catching her staring. She did not try to defend herself, nor did she stop staring after he'd caught her. It made him recall what Annabeth had once told him about being tormented and catcalled by creeps. _Is she trying to find out what's happened to me? Is she trying to find out where the monster went?_

He was about to ask her directly, unable to quiet his curiosity, when they heard a knock on the door, followed by "Antonio, Mason and Cass have taken the dogs to meet the Queen's emus, Ms Hill. Won't you come to Mars?"

"That's Emily," Piper declared, and then added in a whisper, "Play nice."

_The hell was that?_

She opened the stall door, let her in and closed it. It was a little cramped for the three of them, but it was securer than in the open.

Emily was a tall, silver-haired girl probably a couple years older than Jason. "Cleared out the restroom. Honestly, people are so predictable sometimes that you have to wonder if God isn't just messing with you," she said, tutting at seemingly the entirety of mankind. Her attention slid to him, eyes narrowing. "This is the one? I thought he'd be more... ugly."

"Well," Piper shrugged, "Prejudices, you know? Now, the communicator please."

Emily handed Piper some contraption. "How'd you ditch the guards?"

Piper was handling the device with more care than was probably required. "Oh, I got rid of them a few days post the arrest. I'm back to solo now. Who was that guy anyway?"

"Some bug," Emily said, "Get on with it."

In direct contrast to before, Jason kept his eyes fixed on Piper, not daring to look at the other girl. Something about her made him uneasy.

Of course, that was hardly a deterrent to Emily. "You're the overthrown Alpha," she said, "Nice to meet you, prick."

He couldn't reply to that. Emily was glaring at him like she was visualizing torture techniques and Piper was typing her bit to Mr D, so he changed the topic, just to have something to do other than be stared at. "Who are you, really?"

Emily apparently forgot her hatred in a blink; She smiled sweetly and non-villainously. "I'm whatever you think of me." She jerked a thumb at Piper. "She thinks I'm Emily her fairy godmother, so I am that to her."

"So, are you like Mr D's daughter or granddaughter...?"

"As weird and gross the idea of Mr D doing it is, I'll still be to you whatever you want me to be. As long as you're kind of important to Mr D, I'll be Mr D's that to you. Have you decided on a name for me?"

He did not understand a single word coming out of her. "So... are you a Member then? An ex-Member? Or Elicus, whatever."

"Is that what you would like me to be?"

"Why won't you just answer the damn que—"

Jason was cut off by Piper taking his arm and shaking it kinda violently to grab his attention. Still tapping away furiously, she said, "He wants you to tell him the story. But in brief. And in short messages, two to three sentences."

"The encryption is better if it's shorter," Emily agreed.

Jason took the communicator that looked to him just like a cellphone from two decades ago. ' _Here's Jason's version:_ ' the last message read.

He took a deep breath to steel himself. Then he started. ' _She's been planning this for a long time. Overthrowing me wasn't revenge for raping her. She wanted to get to the top since just after Luke dumped her; I was just a tool._ '

He had to ponder over the next one for a while. ' _She is brilliant and inhuman. She planned that day's events out to the minute to ensure I'd be off-guard and not suspect anything. She shifted to a different headspace during our sessions so it wouldn't traumatise her._ '

' _She wanted me to know her plan, and how dangerous an enemy she was. She told me she used Piper and Percy Jackson to break out of the 'pretty body' box and establish herself as queen-material._ '

He realised those was probably too long to be safe. The next one he made shorter. ' _Of course, these (^^^) are based on what she TOLD me. They may be disinformation._ '

' _But I know for sure she's smart because she must have had backup plans. And she wasn't fazed by anything I did._ '

He thought back to the news Piper had given him about Annabeth. ' _She's gotten the love and respect of all or most Members because the transfer of power wouldn't have been as smooth or clean if she hadn't._ '

' _From her words I got the impression that I wasn't a rival/danger to her as much as a tiny complication she had to take care of. She was pretty nonchalant about the whole thing which means she isn't as damaged by the abuse as she should've been which means she is inhuman._ '

Lastly, he added, ' _This is all of what I think is important. I'll wait for questions._ '

But the reply wasn't a question. ' _Let Ms McLean have the phone._ '

He did as told. When Piper was over with whatever, she turned to Emily, supposedly to give the device back, then glanced at him by chance, pulled it back, and began typing again. He exchanged confused expressions with Emily like _What was that?_

As it turned out, _that_ was nothing but Piper remembering to ask Mr D what to do with him. His reply was ' _Keep my property safe. I have a feeling I'll find a use for him._ '

* * *

Emily waved them off, probably just sticking with her act as Piper's friend in public for continuity's sake. "See you soon!" she shouted after them, standing on the curb in front of _Caffeine Wars_.

"I hope not," Piper muttered under her breath, seemingly to him, "The only way I'd run into her again soon is if there's a huge problem."

They were walking to the Goldwing mansion, having determined that it was the closest safe place. To Jason the day was turning out to be a day of firsts: First trip to the ladies room, first time being stared at _like that_ , first time bringing a girl back to his house. And, of course, the first time he'd received a thousand almost heart attacks within less than five hours of consciousness. "How are you going to do it?" he asked.

She glared at him without much fire. "Jason, please stop playing the pronoun game and say your question in full. I do _not_ know what you were thinking about as 'it'."

Jason huffed a short laugh despite himself. He was really, _really_ feeling out of his comfort zone with Piper. "The 'protecting me' part," he clarified, "How are you going to keep me safe when every Mem— _Elicus_ almost certainly wants my head? You can't protect me without getting _yourself_ killed, and that's kinda bad for both me and you."

"See, that's better. Mr D sent me a follow up message later, in our complex codes—this is one of my usual commands—and on decoding it means 'Chiron will take care of it.' He'll probably somehow get Annabeth to promote me and allow me to protect you."

"Why would she accept that?"

"Don't know, but I can guess. From what I know of Chiron's methods, he'll probably sweetly and publicly ask her if respects him and trusts his judgement and crap like that and then slowly trap her so she _has_ to give those orders."

"She's smart enough to manipulate _him_ ," Jason grumbled, "Hopefully he'll try his best, or my second life will end with child murder."

Piper laughed and pat his shoulder in mock-sympathy. "I'm sure you'll live, you whiny blond baby. Tell me about what lies ahead. The near-near-near future. Your family? Who'll be home? Any objections to bringing me home?"

"My family is crazy and not mine. I live with—"

She cut him off, brushing off his story. "I know all that. I was spying on you, remember? Tell me about who'll be there right now and who'll object and what act should I put on?"

He straightened, recalling their approximate schedules. "My stepbrothers—I'll assume you know who's who—and my stepmother. Venus will be out with her friends, and Father's gone till eight everyday."

He considered the other questions. Those were more difficult, but not impossibly so. "If you pretend to be my friend (with or without 'girl' attached) and be Piper McLean the spoiled Hollywood kid, no one will disturb us. Ares will surely try to seduce... but I you can handle that."

"I've got an arsenal," she agreed, then changed the topic. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do. We'll tell them this story: You were staying with me, Emily, Chris and Charles in cabins someplace undisclosable. All of us were ahead on our academics and you four were trying to cheer me up after the assassin. No warning because last minute. No contact because remote.

"Thankfully you don't smell like the hospital, so we'll just lock ourselves in your room and plot how to reintroduce you to the Society and plausible reasons for why you lived despite Will Solace with all his magical healing powers declared you dead. Okay?"

A left and they were walking on his street. "Yeah, just— One question: Aren't you... I mean, Emily was pretty vocal about her hatred. Aren't you disgusted? You could've dug your heels in and pushed me off to someone else. It's... ugly, and evil. And you haven't said a word about it."

She looked at him, her expression masked. "I'm more objective than Emily. I know I've done worse, and unlike Emily, I _realise_ it. You've got nothing on my sins, dude. Also, when I was looking at you and you were flushing up uncomfortably when we were alone, I was observing you. I saw the change in your body, your face. But the first reason is more convincing. You've ruined only one life that wasn't already. I've ended something north of fifty lives. I'm not the kind of girl you introduce to your mother."

That reminded him. "My sister, is she real? Was Annabeth telling the truth?"

"Yes, I checked. Thalia's your sister, full-blooded too. But you might want to think before you rush to meet her. She's part of a possibly man-hating gang and may kill you in a more real way if she comes to know what you've done."

"And my mother?"

"Dead starlet whom Zeus seduced twice. Alcoholic, died some years after you were born. I haven't discovered enough to say whether I pity her or frown at her."

"Don't tell me when you come to know, okay?" He came to a stop, and, with a flourish, introduced his house. "Welcome to the Goldwings'."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
